Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat
by whippy
Summary: Two decades post-Hogwarts, Hermione is married to Chudley Cannons Beater Ron Weasley and working for successful inventor Sibyll Trelawney. Then she is asked to work with Draco Malfoy. Can her job and marriage survive the test? Not updated for Book 6 yet.
1. Professional KnowitAll

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 1: Professional Know-it-All

* * *

It was a bright sunny day, and Diagon Alley was bustling with shoppers and strollers.

Forty-year-old Hermione Weasley pushed her way through the crowd wearing a ridiculously happy grin on her face.

Before her holiday, she'd been seriously worried about both her marriage and her career. Ron was often off travelling in his capacity as Beater for the Chudley Cannons, and even when at home he spent most of his time tied up in practices and in the pub with his teammates. This last season, he'd decided not to try to make it back home on breaks, with the result that Hermione had been left alone with the kids for five solid months. She had missed him badly, and in his absence began to seriously wonder if they were growing apart from each other. As for work, she'd long ago abandoned her first career as a researcher at the Ministry library because (a counsellor had told her) it didn't provide enough adventure to satisfy her Gryffindor nature. Now she worked as a consultant, and though she'd been happy at that for a few years, recently it had seemed, again, as if something were missing.

But after wrapping up her last assignment she'd taken the three months off, and now her perspective on life was wonderfully refreshed. The weather had been gorgeous, she felt rested and full of energy, and Ron was supposed to be back tonight, for at least a month! Hermione grinned even wider, causing a man walking the other way to smile reflexively back.

* * *

Swinging around a corner, Hermione stopped in front of a narrow glass door bearing the golden inscription _Sibyll & Co. Know-it-all Consultants_. Each "i" was dotted with a tiny crystal ball, rendering the otherwise distinguished script almost unbelievably cutesy-looking.

When she pulled the door open, sweet-smelling, lavender-tinted smoke poured out of the stairwell beyond, causing various other passers-by to start choking and coughing. She stepped inside and pulled the door shut with a jangle of camel-bells, then began coughing uncontrollably herself. The turbid air reeked like the back room of The Smoking Wand, the incense shop around the corner. Hermione was sure that Sibyll Trelawney accounted for at least five percent of the Wand's gross annual sales.

"Hermione, is that you dear?" a woman's voice called from upstairs.

"Uh ye(wheeze) yes, I'll be right up (cough, arghh)." She drew her wand and pointed it at her own chest. _"Nosmokius Sidestreamius!"_ she said, gabbling it out quickly between coughs so as to avoid a mishap.

A tingling spread through her, and then suddenly she could breathe perfectly. She sighed in relief and inhaled deeply. Many years ago, when she was a love stricken little Second Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she'd obsessively tried every spell mentioned in the handsome Professor Lockhart's books. That was the only one that ever actually did anything. She'd found it very handy since she began working for Trelawney. She had, however, prudently _not _tried it for deflaming a dragon, which is what Lockhart claimed to have used it for.

When she felt quite recovered, she slipped her wand into her sleeve and brushed herself off, then continued the rest of the way up the steep flights of stairs.

* * *

At the very top, in the cramped attic, were a series of tiny dormer offices joined by a narrow hallway. Incense swirled and eddied heavily in the sunlight from a window at the far end of the corridor. And everywhere else, of course. The floor of the hallway was lined around the edges with stacks of shabby-looking small boxes covered in sparkly runes and pictures of crystal balls, and proudly labelled "Now you too can KNOWITALL!". They were probably returns, rejects and defectives waiting to be processed. Sibyll & Co. was always badly short of storage space.

As Hermione went down the hall, she waved to a couple of her fellow consultants who were in their offices, then glanced quickly into her own office. Her desk had been shoved to one side and the room was packed from floor to ceiling with crates of spanking new Knowitalls. Obviously leaving the place alone for three months had been a mistake. Now she wouldn't be able to get any work done until _she_ found a home for the back-stock. Shaking her head ruefully, she proceeded to her boss' office.

"Hermione! Darling!" screamed Trelawney in greeting. She rushed toward Hermione, all fluttering scarves, glittery trinkets, and masses of curling hair, and enveloped the younger witch in a hug. She smelled overpoweringly of some spicy perfume.

"Ms. Trelawney," Hermione managed to get out, though between struggling not to gag, being crushed in the hug, and getting kissed on alternating cheeks, it was a miracle she could speak at all.

Trelawney had been Professor of Divination at Hogwarts when Hermione was a student. They hadn't gotten along at all in those days; in fact, Trelawney had finally kicked Hermione out of her class and Hermione had been glad to leave. She'd taken Arithmancy for the rest of her stint at Hogwarts, even though her best friends had remained in Divination.

Hermione couldn't pretend that her own attitude against Divination had undergone a complete reversal since then -- she still thought at least half of it was a load of rubbish. However, since coming to work for Trelawney she'd come to realize that the other half of Divination -- a combination of intuition, logic, knowledge of human psychology, and amazing acting skill -- was real. And even, on occasion, rather impressive. It was just a pity that Trelawney was quite sincere in her practice of and belief in the other bit, the bit about actually receiving visions and reading futures and such. If all there was to Trelawney was a shrewd charlatan and the brilliant mind behind the Knowitall Ball, Hermione might not have found working for the woman quite so frustrating at times.

"My dear, you look absolutely wonderful," said Trelawney, finally releasing Hermione enough to hold her at arm's length and look at her.

"Thank you, I feel wonderful. It's amazing what three months of holiday will do. If I'd known, I would have done it long ago!"

"Tea? Witch's Brew?" Trelawney scurried around to the tea tray, which was sitting on top of the wizard-fridge and partially hidden under a falling-down "Wizard of Malta" theatre poster.

"Much as I enjoy a cold frosty one mid-morning, I think I'll go with the tea," laughed Hermione.

"Right," said Trelawney. She pointed her wand at a cup of water and it instantly began steaming.

"So how are sales?" asked Hermione, seating herself in one of the chairs in front of her boss' desk. She let her eyes rove around the crowded office; it hadn't changed much. The sloping walls were jammed with shelves, and the shelves themselves were stuffed indiscriminately with paperback romance novels, messy sheaves of office paper, brass trinkets from India, bundles of incense, censers and incense holders galore. And, of course, about a hundred Knowitalls in all three sizes, some still in boxes and others tucked loose between books and pushed behind knickknacks. Trelawney's floor was two feet deep in papers but her desk was perfectly clean save for a blotter, quill and ink, and a tea cup. Trelawney liked to say that a clean desk 'clears the aura'.

"Fabulous," said Trelawney. "I do believe we're finally breaking into the Far East market, and we're on the verge of coming to a settlement with Remembrall Ltd." She handed Hermione her tea, then settled back in her own chair.

* * *

If someone had told Hermione ten years ago that she'd be working for Trelawney now, she'd have told them they were completely bonkers.

But when it happened, it all seemed very natural. Hermione had been ready to quit the Ministry library for some time, and then she'd heard the rumours that a start-up company was seeking people who were bona fide "know-it-alls". Ron and nearly everyone else in her life had teased her mercilessly until she finally checked it out just to shut them up.

* * *

While still an obscure, sneered-at Divination professor in quest of tools to improve the accuracy of her predictions, Trelawney had made an important theoretical discovery which led to her invention of the Knowitall Ball.

The Knowitall, which resembled an ordinary crystal ball, was charmed so that it could temporarily contain a subset of the knowledge and expertise of one person, to be viewed by another. Trelawney had originally used it in crystal-gazing, to suck up a copy of the life and troubles of her client so that she could more accurately "interpret visions" related to them. It wasn't long, though, before she grasped that this new ball had a lot of commercial potential. She sank her life savings into a small-scale manufacturing venture and the product exploded into a stunning commercial success. Needless to say, she didn't have to teach anymore.

But helping people one-on-one was what had interested Trelawney in Divination in the first place, and so dissatisfied with simply selling the balls, she'd started a second business on the side: the consultancy. By the time Hermione came along, Trelawney was looking for consultants who were veritable encyclopaedias of knowledge, both to work with clients in person and to fill up custom Knowitalls. Hermione "knew it all" about a lot of things, so Trelawney leaped at the chance to hire her. And at the time, it'd seemed just the thing to free Hermione of the never changing, never challenging peace of the library.

* * *

"Batwing," said Trelawney, shuffling through a shallow drawer full of Knowitalls. Hermione could hear them rolling around and clacking together. She shook herself out of her incense-induced reverie.

"Batwing Alchemical and Pharmaceutical?"

"The very one," said Trelawney. "Our new client. You'll be just perfect for them. Aha, here we are!" She handed a snitch-sized Knowitall to Hermione.

"I thought they went bankrupt," said Hermione. She slipped the Knowitall into a pocket for later perusal. Maybe. It was probably full of Divination and baseless conjecture. Trelawney was a good administrator, but she should leave the Know-it-all job to people who really knew it all.

"Almost," said Trelawney. "But there have been a number of new developments, all very hush-hush. There's definitely hope of pulling the company out of the water."

"Oh?" Hermione's interest was piqued. From what she'd seen in the financial papers in the last year or so, Batwing was in terrible shape. A hundred and forty years of successful operation had been followed by two decades of precipitous decline. Their internal workings were probably steeped in tradition, and completely out of date. If they hadn't been able, or willing, to change that on their own then it would be quite a challenge to change it now. And Hermione wanted a challenge. "Tell me more!"

"Well, you may have heard that the majority stockholder and direct descendent of the original owner, Mr. Batten, died without leaving any heirs. That was back in last spring and the will called for the sale of his shares."

Hermione nodded. She remembered seeing that in the news. Nobody had stepped forward to buy the shares, which were ludicrously overpriced.

"Well, what wasn't made public is that the will stated that if the shares did not sell within a year's time, that they would be redistributed equally among the minority stockholders."

"Who are ?" prompted Hermione.

"As it turns out, there was only one. Draco Malfoy."

Hermione's brow furrowed. Malfoy had been in the news a lot over the years, and not for anything good. He'd managed to get convicted on charges of monopoly-building, and the resultant corporate break-up had cost him a good chunk of his fortune. A series of increasingly disastrous marriages - and disastrously expensive divorces - had reliably made the papers too. And whenever rumblings about Death Eaters came up, Malfoy's name was inevitably raised. As a member of the Weasley family Hermione knew that Malfoy's home was regularly raided by the Ministry for dark artefacts and other evidence, sometimes fruitfully. That always ended up in the news too. Of course, Draco's actual job as a Ministry official got him involved in scandals regularly as well. She shook her head. If the guy had ever had anything go right for him, it certainly didn't get a lot of press. Then again, when you had that kind of fame and money, you could take a lot of punishment and still keep coming out on top.

"Malfoy owns part of Batwing? I thought he stayed away from manufacturers these days."

"He owns it completely now, as of last month. And believe me, he was as surprised as you. It seems his broker had forgotten all about it and Malfoy didn't realize he had any connection to it until he read about it in the newspaper."

Hermione had missed that particular newspaper, mostly because in aid of her holiday she hadn't read any in three months. "How odd," she said thoughtfully. "He should sell it for whatever it will bring and take the loss as a tax write-off. I'm sure he'll need it what with everything else that's happened."

"Hmm. Well, that might be best for _him_, but what's best for us is he seems to have got a bee in his bonnet to make it work as a company, and he's agreed to a two-year contract if we can show some kind of results within three months." Trelawney lifted a thick folder from a file door and thumped it down on the desk before Hermione. "There's everything I could find in writing on either Batwing or Malfoy. The ball has my thoughts on the matter. Go give it your best. I think you're just the witch for the job."

Hermione had her own opinion as to what Trelawney's 'thoughts on the matter' would be worth, but she was much more mature now than she'd been as a 13-year-old. She simply smiled and nodded. "Thanks. But he may throw a fit when he sees who I am," she cautioned. "I _am_ Arthur Weasley's daughter-in-law."

"He won't care," said Trelawney. "Don't worry."

"You _predict_ he won't care, or you _told_ him and he didn't care?" Hermione had learned that it didn't pay to assume when Trelawney worded things vaguely. More often than not, the less-than-admirable-and-accurate side of Divination was involved.

Trelawney smiled wryly. "I _told_ him, and he said you would be acceptable."

"Hmm," said Hermione, rather surprised at that. "Well, OK then."

* * *

After finishing up her visit and chatting a bit with the other consultants, Hermione left the cloying confines of Sibyll & Co. and emerged into the outside world carrying the folder under one arm. She smiled and inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. She had three months of holiday behind her, a tough assignment ahead of her, and it was a beautiful day. What more could anyone ask?

She walked to the end of the Alley, enjoying the late afternoon sun. When she'd pretty much seen all she wanted to see, she looked around to make sure nobody was looking and then changed into her Animagus form, a fat grey-and-black striped fly. She buzzed up and away toward the setting sun. If she pushed hard and didn't encounter any inconvenient predators, she could make it home by sundown. And if promises meant anything, Ron would be home tonight too.

* * *

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	2. Dance of the Owls

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 2: The Dance of the Owls

* * *

_Dear Mum,_

_Whatever they tell you, it was a total accident, not on purpose! Anyway, he deserved it. How can one human being be so incredibly annoying? Georgia sends her love too._

_Freida_

* * *

_To the parents of Freida Weasley:_

_It is with sincere regret that we report that there has been yet another incident involving your daughter. Said incident also involved a gallon of Everlasting Glue, a crate of live Madagascar Weeping Cockroaches, and the 5th-year son of a member of our Board of Governors. I trust it is not necessary to go into detail. The boy is expected to make a full recovery over time, but his father is furious -- and, I might add, quite capable of making life difficult for us here at the school should he be provoked into doing so. While I do not like to tell parents how to raise their children, I also don't like to recommend expulsion from Hogwarts particularly in a child's 7th year. Perhaps you could speak to Freida about her behaviour before permanent damage is done? Thank you ever so kindly for your time._

_Minxie Sharemore  
Gryffindor Head of House  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

* * *

_Mum,_

_Hi, how are you? We love you and miss you. Everything is going well in school. Did you hear about Chris getting onto the Quidditch team? Um, by the way you might hear something from the school about something that happened at lunch today. We had a teensy accident with some glue. It got blown really out of proportion! Practically nothing happened. It only got on one person after all. Of course it was rather inconvenient for him, particularly when things began sticking to him and everyone started laughing but anyway I have to go and study now. Hope to write to you again soon!_

_All my love,  
Georgia_

_P.S. Freida says 'love you' too!_

* * *

_To Ron and Hermione:_

_Realizin' that yer very busy and all, I thought this was so important that yeh ought to know. Your young Freida made off with an entire crate of my darl uh, valuable cockroaches and glued them all to another student! Granted that little bast fellow had it coming to him, but think of the poor wee beasties! Kin yeh talk to her about cruelty to our animal friends? And uh, borrowin' without askin' too? Thank yeh and I apologize fer havin' tuh bring this to yer attention._

_ Hagrid  
Keeper of the Grounds  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

* * *

_To the Parents of Georgia Weasley:_

_Don't think I don't know what is going on. The others are too blind to see it, but it's perfectly obvious that oh-so-innocent Georgia is the true ringleader behind your twins' constant mischief and misbehaviour. I wasn't able to catch her red-handed when she stole the Spinneret Powder required for that Everlasting Glue, but rest assured, the next time, I will. When that happens, expulsion will be the least of what befalls her! Perhaps with her out of the picture Freida will finally become controllable. One can only hope._

_Arsenius Jigger  
Potions Instructor  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

* * *

_To the parents of Christopher Weasley:_

_ We are pleased to report that young Mr. Weasley has been accepted as Chaser for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. This is a great honour and we are certain that Christopher will do a wonderful job. We do hope that he will be able to remain our top student in Potions, Transfigurations, and Charms while maintaining the rigorous Quidditch practice schedule. Congratulations once again._

_X. Hooch  
Professor of Flying Studies  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Guess what! I've been accepted to the Quidditch team! The Slytherin captain tried to claim I only got in because of Dad being famous, but Freida and Georgia shut him up good. Everybody knows he only got on his team because his dad is rich anyway. I really hope that I'll have time to study with all the practices the team has scheduled. I have a Transfiguration essay due in only 12 weeks!_

_Chris_

* * *

_To the parents of Jude Weasley:_

_We are rather concerned about your child's behaviour while at Hogwarts. He has taken an extreme interest in the welfare of his youngest sister and while this is laudable, his method of expressing his protectiveness leaves something to be desired. This morning he observed Nellie enter into an altercation with a 2nd year girl and thought it would be appropriate to pull the 2nd year girl's hair and push her down the stairs. Fortunately, no serious injuries resulted this time, but you can see where we would be concerned. He has been assigned detention for his actions, but we would appreciate it if you could please speak to young Mr. Weasley and let him know that such behaviour can't be tolerated. As a 3rd year he should know better. Thank you._

_Missy Crunch  
Acting Head of Discipline  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

* * *

_Dear Mum,_

_It's so unfair! Jude got detention for pushing a 2nd year, but he was only defending me! Besides, her brother is a 5th year and he will get his friends to beat up anybody who messes with her, so why shouldn't my brother do the same? Anyway, don't yell at him please? Pretty please? It's my fault, he was just rescuing me from someone really mean._

_Love, NellieBellie_

* * *

_Dear Mum,_

_I know you're going to be mad when Hogwarts writes to you about stuff I did today. I'm sorry for doing it and I know that bullying is wrong. Before you ask me, NO I don't want to get expelled or suspended! I promise not to pick on any kids smaller than me anymore. It's just that sometimes I get so angry when I see those beastly Slytherins doing it and to my sister! I felt like I couldn't help myself. Next time I have to try to remember to do those things you told me about like reciting the wizarding elemental tables or telling a Prefect._

_Love, Jude_

* * *

_Weasley,_

_I realize that some allowances must be made for children raised in a shack and with no proper father, but really. Don't you think they suffer under handicap enough with his name and your bloodlines, without your failing to teach them respect for their betters as well? Mark my words, if this sort of thing happens again you will pay and so will your children. I will not tolerate my family's honour and reputation being compromised by rag-wearing mudblood trash. Have I made myself clear?_

_Draco L. Malfoy_

* * *

_Dear Freida and Georgia,_

_I apologize about the howler earlier but... no, damn it, I was really upset when I got all those owls. How could you be so irresponsible? I know you are very proud of Chris' accomplishments, but it is not, I repeat, not, acceptable to permanently glue cockroaches all over another student just for making fun of him. What if they can never remove them? Did you ever think of that? Now, I have to ask you something very important. The kid with the cockroaches, it wasn't Salazar Malfoy was it?_

_Love, Mother_

* * *

_Dear Jude,_

_Now, you must work hard to control your temper. You and the others inherited it from your father, and him from his father before that, so there's no use in just hoping it will go away. I know it must have been upsetting to see your sister being picked on, but there are times for action and there are times for just letting things lie! After all Nellie must learn to stand up for herself some day alright? Now I have to ask, and please answer truthfully: this 2nd year you pushed down the stairs, it wasn't Lucia Malfoy was it?_

_Love, Mother_

* * *

_Dear Honey Bunches,_

_What is this I hear about you working with Draco Malfoy? I'm sorry about not being able to make it home again last week, but I swear on Merlin's tomb that I will be there tonight. I swear on my Keeper's broomstick! The lads wanted me to go to a resort in Majorca with them, but I told them there was no way, no matter how much fun they planned on having. It's domestic life for me!_

_Your "Ickle Ronniekins"_

_P.S. It is just a joke about Malfoy right?_

* * *

_Dear Ron,_

_I'm so looking forward to seeing you! I've been so lonely without you. I'm getting the whole house ready for your arrival as I write this. See you soon!_

_Love, Hermione_

_P.S. How could you already know about that? I only found out about it myself a few hours ago!_

* * *

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	3. FlyBy

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 3: Fly-By

* * *

"Mmmm, you smell nice," said Ron as he nuzzled into her hair. It had been a standing joke of theirs since she'd gone to work for Trelawney; every time she went in to the office she came home reeking of incense.

"Really?" asked Hermione innocently, playing her part. "I tried a different soap today. That must be it." She felt giddy. It was so good to see Ron again. It didn't matter that she'd had to stay up until 2AM waiting. It didn't matter that she'd been waiting for five more months before that. He was home now and everything would be fine.

"Must be," said Ron. He kissed her neck. "I missed you. Where are the kids?"

"Hogwarts," said Hermione, feeling a bit guilty. "We didn't know if you were going to be able to make it this time, so ."

But Ron didn't seem that disappointed. On the contrary, he broke into a big grin and picked her up off her feet. Hermione shrieked in surprise as he carried her off into the bedroom for a more thorough hello.

* * *

Some time later found them sprawled on the couch in the living room, drinks in hand, clothes rumpled, and hair decidedly tousled. Hermione had been staring at Ron non-stop, still unable to believe that he was really there. He looked good: tall and well-muscled, deeply freckled by hours on a broomstick, his fiery red hair cut sleek and stylish. Was he really hers, this famous Quidditch star, Beater Ron Weasley?

"So this is the latest project?" Ron asked, surveying the papers arranged all over the coffee table, the end tables, and the couch.

"Yes, it's Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical," said Hermione.

"I've heard of them! The Apothecary shop on Diagon Alley buys their stock from them, and Fred and George get most of their raw materials from them owl order."

"Yes, they're the oldest ingredients supplier in continuous operation. However, at the moment they're not profitable at all, and that's where I come in. I'm really looking forward to it. It should be quite a challenge."

"Wow Herm, this has to be your biggest assignment yet," said Ron, glowing with pride for her. He took her hand and kissed the back of it.

"I think it is," agreed Hermione, smiling at him fondly.

"And how does Draco Malfoy fit in?"

Hermione grimaced at the reminder. Suddenly her feelings of happiness were replaced by the flutter of trepidation she'd been trying to ignore ever since receiving the nasty owl from Malfoy earlier in the day. "He owns it, believe it or not. As of a month ago."

"I wonder if he bumped off the original owner to get his hands on it."

Hermione gave Ron an exasperated look.

"Well, he could have!" protested Ron. He picked up a press-photo of Draco that was lying on the table. "Ecchh, yes, that's him all right. Lucius' little clone."

Hermione laughed despite herself. "Does look like him, doesn't he? Not so little anymore, though."

"Says you." Ron snickered. "I've seen him in person. My Seeker outweighs him. He's a runt."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Trust Ron to see everything in Quidditch terms. "Size doesn't matter in business, dear. Only money." The picture of Malfoy scowled at her and she took it away from Ron, placing it face-down on the table so she wouldn't have to look at it. "When did you see him in person?"

"It was oh, two, three years ago, at the semi-finals at Holyfield. He threw out the Quaffle. We all had to shake his hand first, in front of everybody. Typical celebrity stuff. He had his wife with him Mandy, or Mindy was it ."

"Mindi Brains," supplied Hermione. "That was number five. He divorced her after only a year." Hermione had already memorized a lot of what Trelawney had given her in the file.

Ron shook his head. "I can never keep track. Didn't he leave number six at the altar?"

"Yes, Veroniqua Weathermark. He didn't even show his face on wedding day. Rumour says he was on holiday in France."

"Lawyers must have had fun with that. Why do these women keep saying yes?"

"I have no idea," said Hermione. "Although, the thought of marrying someone guaranteed to divorce them and cough up a fabulous fortune in damages might appeal to some of them on a purely financial level."

"Is this his police record?" Ron asked in delight, reaching for it. "Look how thick it is!"

"Ron, that's confidential!"

"No it isn't, it's on the public record." He started flipping through it. "There are hundreds of flying violations in here! Speeding, recklessness, use of a competition vehicle in commercial airspace well, he can't be all that bad can he?"

Hermione groaned. Men and brooms!

"Ooh, obstructing a warrant search resisting arrest assault on an Auror, multiple charges this must have been one of the raids."

"Give that back Ron, goodness! It's personal!" She tried to grab the file from him, but he held it out of her reach, laughing.

"Domestic violence? I didn't think even he would sink that low. No wait, this is him claiming _she_ attacked _him_. Look, here's another incident. And two more! Why did they arrest him instead of her, though?"

"They arrest whichever one was going to leave the scene anyway. Don't you remember how he always used to run out on confrontations back at school?" Hermione tried to grab the file again, but Ron's advantage over her in reach made that impossible.

"These aren't even all the same wife! Well, I can't say I blame them, I'd get violent too if I was married to the little shit."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well he'd be safe because you'd never be around. Give it here! Oof!"

Laughing, Ron finally let her have it.

"What's all this, Batwing financial stuff?" he continued, pawing through the folder. Hermione placed the arrest record safely on a side table.

"Yes, and I've been reading through it all evening. The company is in terrible shape and it's worth next to nothing I don't know why Malfoy's even bothering with it."

"He spent every day of the first five years of school thinking up petty insults for us, and you're surprised he can obsess on stuff that's not worth it? Are you sure you're a Know-it-all?"

"That was twenty-two years ago, Ron."

"Hey, you were the one who brought up school. Ooh look, one of the raid photos." Ron snatched it up and examined it avidly. The photograph had been taken by a Ministry evidence gatherer during the most recent raid that summer, then leaked to the press. It had appeared in the Daily Prophet the next morning, but this was no newspaper clipping. It was a big, clear, wizard photo. "How did that old fraud Trelawney get her hands on an original? I don't think Dad even has any at home."

Arthur Weasley, in his capacity as investigator for the Ministry of Magic, had conducted several sensational raids on Malfoy Manor in the years following the war. The first one had come a few days after Draco's first divorce. Several more had happened over the intervening years, with the most recent only two months ago. Hermione had heard it said around the dinner table that another was planned and imminent. Each time, the warrant was extended to cover additional hiding places learned about through interrogating new prisoners. Each time, at least a couple of Dark Magic items were seized. However, as Arthur had explained to the family, it was clear that Malfoy was somehow being warned in advance, and successfully removing most of the illegal items to new as-yet undiscovered hidey holes. The few pieces seized were on public display and too easily explained away as family heirlooms.

This particular photo showed Draco and a couple of children, sitting in an opulent drawing room under Auror guard. They appeared to be waiting while the house was searched.

Draco was wearing a silk night-robe and his hair was tousled with sleep. Sometimes in the photo he seemed calm, chill, almost bored with the invasive procedure. Other times the eyes betrayed stress and exhaustion. Arthur had explained that it took many days to add new rooms to a house, and set them up with charms and wards, and hide things there and then remove all trace of what had been in the old hiding places. That night of waiting patiently had most likely been preceded by days and nights of frantic labour, with many different Death Eaters taking round-the-clock shifts to get the job done.

Salazar and Lucia shared their father's and grandfather's near-albino coloration. However, they were both husky kids, looking slightly too-large compared to their father, and their faces were not as pointy as his. Apparently the cross between Pansy Parkinson's pug-like mug and Draco's ferrety one had had unexpectedly happy results. They were good looking kids. They were also fearful and confused looking kids, dressed in pyjamas as if they'd been dragged out of bed and clinging to their father's hands.

Ron obviously didn't agree with her assessment of the kids' looks. "Gah, they look just like Pansy," he complained. "Except with bleach."

"You shouldn't badmouth Pansy," said Hermione, biting her lip. The entire Weasley family had thrown fits when Ginny moved in with Pansy several years ago. The woman still wasn't welcome at family gatherings, despite being Ginny's live-in and fellow Auror.

"I don't care what anyone says," said Ron. "Her whole family are a bunch of Slytherin-sorted Death Eaters and Azkaban-fodder. Why they trust her as an Auror is beyond me."

"Oh, Ron," sighed Hermione. "It'd mean so much to Ginny if you'd accept her friend. After all these years!"

Ron shook his head and placed the picture with the kids in it back in the folder also face down. His mood had clearly been spoiled by Pansy's name coming up.

"I also don't see why Trelawney would send you of all people," he grumbled. "I mean, I know you're one of her best Know-it-alls, but Dad's last raid on Malfoy's house was just eight weeks ago, and the next is to be less than a month from now. You'll probably still be working with him when it happens. And even if he didn't have that to hate you for, he'd still hate your guts just for not being pureblood."

Hermione sighed. "I know, and look at this letter." She found Malfoy's most recent hate-mail and passed it over.

Ron read the letter, and then blinked at it in surprise. The snake on the Malfoy crest blinked back at him suspiciously as Ron's face reddened in fury. "This just arrived today? Hermione, you can't work with this guy, he's threatening our kids!"

Hermione groaned. "Not without reason, I'm afraid. Freida and Georgia are completely out of control, and Jude seems to be regressing to his old primary-school tricks. Look at these school letters I wouldn't be surprised if Chris is even encouraging the twins, too. I wish you were here to help discipline them, they really _listen _to you." She tried to push the latest letters from Hogwarts into Ron's hands.

"Only because I pick my battles. With you nitpicking everything, no wonder they've learned to let it roll off their backs. Look at this list ." Ron avoided the Hogwarts letters and instead grabbed a list of Muggle deaths Malfoy was suspected of having some connection to. "There are hundreds of names on this list! At least some of them must have been murdered by his own hand. Do you really want to expose our kids to that? Do you really want to expose yourself to that?"

"Ron put that down! That really _is _confidential. And none of it's ever been proven, either. Anyway, our kids aren't even technically Muggle-born. And why would he go after me? Trelawney said he didn't mind working with me."

Ron looked at her incredulously. "You believe that old bat? And you call me reckless! What else is in here?" He dug through more of the papers.

"Ron ."

"Look!" he said, pointing at a list of charitable contributions made in the Malfoy name. Among the more innocuous and traditional contributions like St. Mungo's, the Hogwarts Alumni Society, and the Magical Pet Rescue, there were more sinister items. "He donated nearly a million galleons to the Lucius M. Malfoy Foundation, and that's last year alone! That's a million more galleons gone to legal defense for wizards accused of murdering Muggles. The mark of a real good citizen, don't you think? And then look here he makes a contribution to the Mabel Initiative three times a year. You know what they do, don't you?"

"Yes, Ron, they educate people about the beneficial aspects of the Dark Arts. But ."

"Oh, Bludgers, look at the time." Ron had just noticed his watch. "Do you think you could do my laundry for me while I take a shower?"

Hermione stared at him in total confusion at the change of subject. "Er what?"

"My laundry it's by the door. I need to take a shower, if I go when I'm all sweaty like this the flies will eat me alive."

Hermione stared at him, stunned speechless.

"A bunch of the fellows and I are going to meet in Port de Soller tomorrow to go over some new moves Benny has thought up," he explained. "I'd have to leave now if I want to get any sleep beforehand. I'm sorry, I thought I told you."

"You're leaving?? But it's been five months! And you just got here two hours ago!"

"I promised the lads. You know how they are. I barely even managed to convince them I needed tonight."

"But what about the kids? Hogwarts is threatening to expel Freida. Chris got on the Quidditch team and could really use a letter from his father congratulating him ."

"I'll write him, I promise," said Ron. "From Majorca. First thing after I wake up."

"Jude pushed a 2nd year down the stairs today!" cried Hermione in desperation. "A little girl a year younger than him! He's turning into the worst sort of bully!"

"Was it Lucia Malfoy?" asked Ron. "She probably deserved it."

Hermione felt like ripping out her bushy brown hair.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Ron was gone. He'd taken the most recent sack of fan-mail and some of the clothes from his spare trunk with him. He had not said when he might be able to visit again.

Hermione flopped herself down on the couch and put her arm over her eyes. She couldn't even begin to describe how she felt. She'd loved his visit, but she was unbelievably frustrated at him leaving on the very same night he'd arrived. And after five months of absence! She really didn't think she was being unreasonable about it this time. If she asked her friends they would surely support her instead of telling her she was being silly. Wouldn't they?

There was a lump of something uncomfortable under her thigh. She reached into the pocket of her robes and found the snitch-sized Knowitall Trelawney had given her nearly 18 hours before. She hadn't really been telling Ron the truth when she said she was looking forward to the challenge of helping Batwing. To be honest, she'd already looked through the folder several times and not found anything to inspire her about the Batwing situation. The company really was nearly worthless. And after Ron's incredibly short visit, she was feeling even less inspired than before.

"Well, it can't hurt me to just look at what's on here," she muttered to herself. "Or at least, it can't hurt any more."

* * *

The Knowitall contained a recording of the initial consultation Trelawney had done with Malfoy before accepting him as a client. It took place in Trelawney's office; Hermione recognized the purple haze and the garish paisley pattern on the curtain on the wall opposite her boss's desk.

Trelawney was too cowardly to meet Malfoy's eyes. Instead Hermione was treated to a dizzying assortment of worthless visuals, as Trelawney guided him to a chair while trying to look anywhere else.

Something was wrong with the sound too. She could hear their voices murmuring but couldn't really make anything out. That usually meant the person recording the Knowitall wasn't really paying attention. Hermione shook her head to herself and forced herself to keep watching.

Now they were seated. Trelawney still wouldn't look him in the eye, instead staring about a foot below his face. Somewhere through the haze Hermione could hear Malfoy's cool, drawling voice speaking. She could only hear a word or two here and there: "market share", "product range", "employee morale". His hands moved when he talked, in refined and elegant movements. His words finally faded completely away as Trelawney's attention focused increasingly on those hands. Hermione jumped as a thought intruded suddenly on her perceptions.

_God, I love those hands, _Trelawney was thinking. _I wonder if I can get him to do a palm reading._

_What the ?_ thought Hermione. Trelawney's Knowitalls were usually pretty bad, but at least she usually inserted thoughts that were actually relevant. Insofar as that was possible for her, that is.

Malfoy's hands _were_ nice, long and elegant and perfectly manicured without a blemish on them. He wore a heavy platinum ring bearing the Malfoy family crest inlaid with emeralds or some other deep green jewels. That was nice too. But hardly relevant to Batwing!

Hermione gritted her teeth as she watched Trelawney reach forward and capture one of the hands, turning it over. She could hear Trelawney's real voice dimly in the background, and then as Trelawney glanced upward she caught a glimpse of Malfoy's long, narrow face and grey eyes. He nodded once, OK-ing the palm reading. Hermione was disgusted. Malfoy must really believe that palmistry crap. He was a pureblood though, and in Hermione's experience they were much more likely to be taken in by such fraud than people with more exposure to Muggle realism.

_This skin,_ Trelawney thought, startling Hermione once again. Trelawney had an amazingly loud mind. _I wish my skin was this gorgeous. Look at this hand, I bet he's never worked a day in his life. So soft._ Her delicate, almost insectile fingers traced over the palm, caressing it, following the lines. _Bad future though. Oh, my! Nothing but pain and hardship. I better de-emphasize that. Customers never want to hear bad news._ Hermione heard snatches of Trelawney's reading, including the phrase "you will soon find love". Egads! The man had been married five times. The chances of his being in love again, sooner rather than later, seemed pretty high. Couldn't Trelawney come up with anything more impressive than that? But as the seeress glanced up at Malfoy's face again, Hermione could see that the wizard was listening intently, his eyes narrowed and thoughtful. Ugh! This sort of ignorance was truly alarming.

Hermione threw Trelawney's Knowitall away in disgust. It missed the fireplace and hit the top of the mantle instead, losing itself behind a forest of Quidditch trophies and the taxidermist-stuffed Pigwidgeon. Hermione doubted she'd bother going looking for it later; she should have known better than to expect anything useful out of it. But at least Trelawney usually _tried_ to provide helpful information. This time she had totally ignored all the data Malfoy might have tried to pass along about Batwing, and didn't think a single thought worth overhearing. It was so frustrating!

But then again, Trelawney wasn't in charge of actually solving the client's problems, only securing the contract then providing a Know-it-all consultant who could do so. And wasn't she good at that? Stupid though palmistry and prediction was, Malfoy had seemed to eat it up. If that was what it took to get him to trust Sibyll & Co. with his company and his money, then how could Hermione really blame Trelawney for using it? She sighed.

Hermione preferred to go into new projects with a lot of research under her belt and some idea of what her initial attack plan might be. But after looking through the folder and viewing the Knowitall, Hermione was no closer to understanding why Malfoy thought Batwing had enough potential that it was worth spending the whole boatload of money she was sure Trelawney was charging him.

Or why Malfoy was willing to work one-on-one with someone whose kids seemed bent on putting his own kids in the Hospital wing, whose father-in-law was doing his best to put him in Azkaban, and who was a "mudblood" besides.

She wished that she could just go to sleep and forget about Ron's confusing visit and her increasingly-less-promising new assignment. But it was going on 4:30AM and she had an appointment at Batwing at 7. What in the world was she going to say to Malfoy's face?

* * *

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	4. Owls Redux

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 4: Owls Redux

* * *

_Draco,_

_G. says she's dead certain the raid is planned for two weeks from Friday at 4:05AM. They know about the fourth floor closet and also about the false trunk in the tenth century torture chamber. They might not know about the others yet but if it's me I'd be plenty paranoid. You do know they captured B.? Be careful. I love you._

_--P._

* * *

_Dear Father,_

_I love you and miss you. How is Sal doing? I hope he is doing better._

_Can I ask you something? Why do I have to go to this horrible school? All the teachers are prejudiced against Slytherins except Snape. Do you know what they have me doing for detention? Scrubbing the owlery!!! It is so! gross! And it is taking forever. I have already been on it for two nights and you can barely even tell. And I am sore all over and I smell like owl droppings! All I did was say a couple of things to a crummy little Weasley mudblood and _I_ was the one who got my hair pulled and pushed down the stairs! It just isn't fair. I'm sorry about the blotches on the ink, but I can't stop crying. Do I really have to keep going here if Sal doesn't come back?_

_Also I was wondering, can I have a new dress for the ball coming up? I'd feel ever so much better. The next Hogsmeade day is in only 4 days. Maybe you could come and help me pick it out? Do you have a new girlfriend or fiancee yet? She could come too._

_Love,  
Lucia_

* * *

_Dear Lucia,_

_I hope that you will be strong and will uphold our family honour in a dignified fashion during this difficult time. I certainly hope there will be no more owls from Hogwarts about your behavior. Have you any idea the embarrassment I went through receiving a letter of that nature at the Ministry, and with Arthur Weasley standing right there?_

_Your brother is finally conscious and feeling much better, although of course the glue has yet to be removed. Since the reversal of Everlasting Glue has been one of the Great Puzzles of the wizarding world for some centuries, it is probably too soon to expect progress on that front. If you would like to know more about Everlasting Glue, I would suggest asking Professor Jigger. I am certain he would be thrilled to have you show some interest in the Potion-making Arts. After all, there is only so much even a sympathetic teacher can do for the grades of a student who displays your degree of apathy for the subject._

_Regarding your remaining at Hogwarts, we will discuss it this summer._

_As for the dress, is this your way of asking if I will arrange for the Hogsmeade restriction portion of your punishment to be lifted? Regardless, the answer is yes, of course. And no, I will not be bringing anyone. Just myself._

_Enclosed are some chocolate frogs, melt worms, and exploding liquorice. I hope you and your friends enjoy them._

_Your Father,  
Draco L. Malfoy_

* * *

_Listen you piece of shit,_

_If you dare harm a hair on my wife's head, or say a single word to threaten my kids again, the entire Chudley Cannons Quidditch squad from my fellow Beaters down to the pumpkin juice boy are going to come to your home or work and beat your puny little git ass to a bloody pulp. Enclosed is a drawing illustrating some of the possibilities just in case you didn't understand what I meant. Don't bother writing back._

_Ron Weasley  
Beater (Of both Bludgers and Ferret Faced Midgets)  
Chudley Cannons_

* * *

_Dear Salazar's Dad,_

_My mother made me write you a letter apologizing for gluing cockroaches all over your son. Well I'm not sorry but here goes:_

_"Sorry"_

_There. He deserved it though._

_-- Freida Weasley_

_P.S. Are you really a Death Eater? Everybody says so._

* * *

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_My sister and I are so sorry for what we've done. We really had no idea that the Everlasting glue was _really_ everlasting or we would have used something like incantatum stickum instead. Honest! Also we had no idea that our mum would get so peeved! I guess we made a mistake. But you know, none of this would have happened if Salazar wasn't teasing our little brother for getting on the Quidditch team. It's so ridiculous anyway. I mean, everyone knows how _your_ son got on! And you too when you were at Hogwarts, if my dad can be believed. Well I think I'm getting a bit off topic here. All I'm trying to say is, we're sorry and we won't do it again. Really!_

_--Georgia Weasley_

* * *

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_I am sorry for pushing Lucia down the stairs. I realize it was a bad thing to do seeing as how I am a year older than her and she wasn't even bothering me personally. My mother says I need to learn how to control my temper and besides, Nellie needs to learn how to stand up for herself. I hope Lucia will be OK and I apologize once again._

_-- Jude Weasley_

* * *

_You Great Git,_

_I hate you! You're nothing but a bully and your rotten little brats are just as bad. Why don't you go drown the both of them like the runts they are! Then go drown yourself. I hope you fall down some stairs and kill yourself. I sent this using a public owl so you'll never know who I am. Nyeahh!!_

_-- Ju An Enemy_

* * *

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_Why is Lucia so mean to me? Is it because my sisters got Salazar back for picking on my brother? But she was always picking on me even before that. My mum wants me to apologize but I didn't do anything! It just isn't fair. My friend Megan Chafferty says the reason you Malfoys are so mean is because nobody loves you. That doesn't seem fair either! Can't we all just get along?_

_--NellieBellie_

* * *

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_We realize you're a very important man and rather busy but we hope you will turn your attention to your Daily Prophet bill. It is really such a small amount and surely someone of your financial standing should have no difficulty in paying in a timely fashion. Your bill is, at this time, six months late. We certainly hope this has nothing to do with the Rita Skeeter article we published regarding your sensational breakup with Amexia Brandt. After all, we only publish the truth, nothing more. And the public deserves the truth, doesn't it?_

_--Pristina Closure  
Accounts Receivable  
The Daily Prophet_

_P.S. Did you receive our previous letter? Our owl returned badly wounded and appeared to have been attacked by a goshawk or some such._

* * *

_Malfoy,_

_Never forget. We're watching you. One slip and it's over._

_A. Moody_

* * *

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_You bigoted, inbred, over-moneyed, under-brained, albino freak. Thank you for the awful Howler my sisters got from our mum for teaching your miserable git of a son a lesson. Thank you also for paying "Sally's" way onto the Slytherin team, because the rest of that lot of ogres resents it so much they make life hell for everyone else at the school. I would like to thank you for ruining my little sister's and brother's lives as well. By the way this letter will explode into fiery ashes the moment you finish reading it, because I'd rather die than ruin my perfect record by getting in trouble for sending this. I hope you're standing somewhere flammable, asshole._

_--Christopher Wea/_

* * *

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	5. Gone to Ground

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 5: Gone to Ground

* * *

The broomstick descended gracefully, skimming over acres of shabby industrial greenhouses. Their opaque glass roofs glinted in the morning sun, reflecting the broom in smoothly undulating waves like a steel-frame ocean.

Hermione rode the broom sidesaddle, leaning over its sleek gray handle. She was dressed in smart business-cut robes, her hair tied back for flight. She carried a leather briefcase across her folded knees.

Beyond the greenhouses, the rest of Batwing sprawled over nearly two square kilometers of urban ugliness. Its bricks were crumbling, its concrete riddled with fractures, its yards become rough meadows. The high gates surrounding the complex were patched with rust and rubbish lay strewn in the alleys between the buildings.

But yet, the factory hummed with the presence of thousands of active workers. A steady stream of cargo transports lumbered in and out of hulking stone-chimneyed floo ovens, waited in line under the saggy awnings of loading docks. People could be seen everywhere, loading and unloading shipping containers, sitting at picnic tables on break, waiting with their hands curled around worn iron portkey rings.

A patch of incongruous bright white sparkled from one small courtyard. It was a sky yacht with sleek racing lines, heeled over on its side with its twin masts folded back at rest. It was pristine, shining, and as wrong there as a swan nestled in a rubbish dump. Nobody came anywhere near it, as if its wrongness provided some powerful physical barrier.

As Hermione spiralled down toward the factory's main entrance, the gleaming white yacht passed out of sight behind the buildings, crouched down as if in hiding.

* * *

Speaking of wrongness, Hermione was more sceptical than ever that Draco Malfoy had actually agreed to work with her on this project.

When Sibyll Trelawney had told Hermione that the first time, Hermione had been disbelieving enough. After receiving Malfoy's nasty owl regarding his children's run-ins with Hermione's, she was even more paranoid. Before coming to Batwing for her appointment, Hermione had actually gone so far as to stop in at the office on the way and confront Trelawney on the subject.

"Oh no, dear, you have nothing to worry about!" Trelawney insisted again, beaming and blinking her highly-magnified eyes.

"Prove it," said Hermione bluntly.

And so Trelawney had rubbed her hands on a bludger-sized glass ball and there appeared inside of it a tiny image of Trelawney asking Malfoy and Malfoy saying yes.

It wasn't until Batwing was already in view that Hermione realized she should have demanded to know if that was a recorded knowitall ball showing the past, or if it'd been a divination crystal ball showing a possible future.

_Aargh!_

* * *

Like everything else Hermione had seen of Batwing so far, the main reception area had long since passed from ratty to dilapidated. It looked as if it had last been painted and furnished about a half-century before. A huge company crest in bas-relief graced the wall above the receptionist's desk. The stylized silhouette of a bat crowned the word BATWING, and the familiar plant/animal/mineral seal of the hallowed potions ingredients house was emblazoned underneath. The whole thing was faded and patched where paint and metal-leaf had flaked away.

"Hello!" said the receptionist brightly. "Can I help you?" She was about Hermione's age and much more cheerful and well-put-together than her surroundings. Hermione smiled in return.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Weasley with Sibyll & Co., I have an appointment?"

The witch beamed and pulled a schedule book over to her to verify. After flipping back and forth a couple of times, she asked "are you sure it was today?"

"Yes, I'm about ten minutes early."

"Do you remember who you were supposed to see?"

"I'm here to see Mr. Malfoy."

The receptionist let go of the schedule book as if it was poisonous and looked up at Hermione in an entirely different way.

"Oh him." The tone of loathing was unmistakable. The receptionist gave Hermione an evil glare as if merely by having an appointment with Malfoy she'd become the enemy. Hermione smiled a bland air-headed professional smile, hiding her disquiet. It was a bad sign when employees hated the new owner of a company so much they'd show it in front of the public. Of course, if all had been well at Batwing, then Sibyll & Co. wouldn't have been called in, would it have? And after all, Malfoy was famous for making enemies of his perceived inferiors. Hermione shouldn't be surprised if he had already said or done something awful to the poor receptionist.

"I'll let his staff know that you're in," continued the obviously disgruntled witch.

She clapped her hands twice, and a Freed house-elf appeared with a BANG. The elf was wearing a women's business robe, the hem trailing behind her and the arms much longer than her own.

"Poopsie is here, what is Poopsie do for you ladies?" the elf squeaked, goggling her big green eyes and flapping her empty sleeve-ends.

_Poopsie?_ Hermione winced despite herself. _What cruel house-elf mother would name her child Poopsie?_ For her part, the receptionist wore an expression of extreme distaste. Hermione couldn't tell if she just didn't like house-elves, or if it was because the elf was associated with Draco Malfoy. Or maybe it was the name. The name was pretty bad. Not even Hermione, an outspoken supporter of tolerance of Freed elves and their culture, could deny that.

"Mrs. Weasley is here to see _him._ Please take her up there."

"Oh, yes Missus Shortwater, right away! Poopsie is happy to help out!"

"Stuff a sock in it," muttered the receptionist under her breath. This was a very rude insult to freed elves. Hermione was shocked, but fortunately Poopsie didn't seem to have noticed.

As Poopsie dragged her enthusiastically out of the lobby, Hermione distinctly heard a new voice from behind them.

"Who was that?" asked a woman.

"Malfoy has gone and brought in a consultantcy," said the receptionist. "Sibyll & Co."

"Oh no, I suppose this means limbo is over and hell is about to begin," said the other woman sourly.

"It also means that Decker won the pool on why Malfoy made it in so early this morning," said the receptionist.

"I thought he bet it was to meet with his lawyers."

"Yes but he was the only one who _didn't_ bet it was because he pulled an all-nighter at a Death Eater meeting."

The two women snickered appreciatively.

Draco's father Lucius Malfoy was currently in Azkaban serving a 25-year sentence for Death Eater crimes. Of course, it may as well have been a Life sentence, because by the time he got out he was going to require humane restraint and a 24 hour nursemaid. Azkaban was not kind to its prisoners.

Lucius claimed he had been forced to obey the Dark Lord against his will, through a combination of threat and physical and psychological torture. Nobody believed it - far too much time had passed, and there would have been plenty of opportunity to ask for protection. The claim was far too similar to his claim to have been under Imperius during the first war. And everybody with an ounce of common sense knew that Lucius was just plain evil.

His lawyers managed to get him a trial, which was more than most obviously guilty Death Eaters usually got. But even so, after decades of persistently eluding justice Lucius had a lot of people waiting for an excuse to nail him for good, so in the end he was unable to escape a prison sentence.

Nobody had ever been able to prove that Draco Malfoy had followed in his father's footsteps and committed Death Eater crimes too, but most assumed he had. After all, Lucius had gone on for years and years without getting caught. Why not the son as well? Hermione shuddered and tried to push those thoughts away. It didn't matter. This was only business.

* * *

As they passed out of earshot of the lobby, she turned to Poopsie.

"How do you like working for Batwing er dear?" Hermione asked the elf. She just couldn't bring herself to say the elf's name. She should be ashamed of herself! And her being the original founder of S.P.E.W. and all.

"Oh, Poopsie is not be working for Batwing, Missus Weasley, Poopsie is here for Master Malfoy."

Hermione's brow furrowed. Why would an apparently sane free elf work for Malfoy?

"Oh, my," she said uncertainly. "How exciting. Er, how did that come to happen?"

"Poopsie used to belong with Malfoy Family," the elf explained. "Mistress Sherry wanted to take Poopsie with her when she left, but the courtroom man says Poopsie gets to stay with the family. So Mistress Sherry was angry, and she freed Poopsie!" she exclaimed. "Poopsie not know what to do, but Master was so good to Poopsie afterward."

Hermione figured "Mistress Sherry" was Sherida Lockholt, Malfoy's third ex-wife. Hermione's opinion of the woman went up a notch - anybody who'd free a house-elf, even to get revenge on someone else, was OK in Hermione's book. Malfoy was another story though. A freed house-elf often tried to cling to the idea of a master out of fear of the unknown, and Malfoy having handled house-elves since birth had probably taken shameless advantage of the poor thing. "He was good to you, you say?" mused Hermione. Somehow she doubted that.

"Yes, Poopsie is Master's assistant now!" squeaked Poopsie, excitedly. "Poopsie is so happy to have Master to work for every day, helping out and assisting with everything!"

"Didn't you want to work for er, someone else instead?"

The house-elf's droopy ears stood straight up in indignation, but before she could squeak out a retort, Hermione laughed.

"Never mind it's none of my business. I'm just glad you're happy here." She wondered privately if any non-freed house elves remained at Malfoy Manor. They were a lot rarer than they'd once been, but trust Malfoy to have them if anybody did.

* * *

They travelled to the fourth floor via an ancient cage-front lift of clearly Muggle design. Hermione had spotted some electric lights along the hallways, too. She was fascinated. How much of the complex had been built by Muggles? Were there Muggles working there too? She made a mental note to look up more of the factory facility's history later. Once out of the lift, they walked down a long corridor that had large multipane windows along both sides. One side looked out at more Batwing buildings. The other side looked inward over a vast production floor crowded with tables. Hundreds of busy workers laboured at sorting eyeballs, boxing up freeze dried starlings, pressing chopped frog guts, and countless other menial tasks. Hermione itched to fly over it in animagus form, exploring the workers' procedures and productivity. Well, time enough for that soon. For now, Poopsie let Hermione into a windowless, mustard-colored waiting room with an empty secretary's desk and a couple of tatty-looking chairs.

"Please waits here, Miz Weasley, and Poopsie will tell Master you're here!" Poopsie said with great importance.

"OK," said Hermione innocently. But the moment Poopsie had gone into the next room, Hermione switched to her Animagus form and flew after her.

* * *

By the time she'd been an Animagus for a year, Hermione could no longer be angry with Rita Skeeter for spying on her, Ron, and Harry at Hogwarts. Indeed, she felt she understood fully. Being in Animagus form was addictive, and being nearly invisible was addictive, and the logical extension of the two was that spying was a compulsive and endlessly fascinating pastime.

For Hermione it had begun with "checking up" on the kids, making sure they were doing their homework and staying away from mind altering potions. Then she had tried checking up on Ron, but quickly figured out that the things he did when he was on the road were things she would rather not know about.

As she had grown more and more dissatisfied with her marriage, her compulsion to watch had grown ever stronger. She began to sample the lives of others - strangers, friends, family members, business contacts. During the long weeks of Ron's absences she had become a constant watcher of lives, some fleetingly to just keep tabs, others in deep and intimate subscription. There was no chance she'd be caught, and the danger of being accidentally killed just added to the thrill.

During the long three months of her holiday, she'd done almost nothing else.

* * *

The inner office that the waiting room guarded was long and narrow, running along one wall of the building. It was as ramshackle as the rest of Batwing. Windows on one side overlooked the courtyard in which the white flying yacht was anchored. More windows on the opposite wall looked out over the production floor from a different angle. Low shelves and cabinets lined the walls underneath the windows, sagging under the weight of boxes of paperwork. They were labelled by year and they were all out of order: 1919, 1948, 1872. Everything had a greyish and dusty cast, as if nothing interesting had happened there in several decades. Even the jade plants and geraniums on the outer windowsills looked as if no one had bothered with them in a long time. A huge conference table took up most of the front of the room.

Lying on the table were a couple of items that, like the boat, had to belong to Malfoy rather than Batwing. A huge cage sat mostly-covered by a snake-patterned black silk cloth. Hermione could see the feet of an immense owl resting on a perch within. Beside the cage lay a vintage Bulgarian racing broom that was probably worth as much as the Burrow. Hermione knew from reading Trelawney's file that Malfoy could no longer actually fly a broom legally -- he'd been fitted with a restraining charm that would both deliver a nasty electric shock and draw Auror attention if he tried. It was the latest in a long series of harassments by those who wanted any excuse they could get to search him and _Prior Incantato_ his wand. And with Malfoy's extensive record of flying violations, it had been easy to pull off legally, too. However, they had not yet caught him with Dark Artefacts in his pockets or anything Unforgivable left in his wand.

* * *

Draco Malfoy himself was at the far end of the room, beyond the conference table, slumped at a cluttered executive desk.

When Draco had been a kid, there had been no question of who his father was. Even if he'd been able to shut up about Lucius for one moment, the family resemblance was obvious. Now that he was grown, he reminded people strongly of Lucius at that age. When Hermione had gone through Trelawney's folder she had closely compared the photos of father and son. Seen side-by-side, Draco was the more lightly built, and though he tried to pull off Lucius' imperial disdain, during its unguarded moments his face had a more nervous and ferrety cast.

In person, Draco was showing his age more than the other classmates Hermione had seen recently, his grey eyes shadowed and disillusioned. Though he maintained a glamorous image in public, here in private he appeared dissipated, unkempt and listless. He looked both painfully out of place and somehow permanent in the dull office, like a caged hawk whose wings have been plucked so many times the feathers stopped growing back.

There was an open bottle of Fire Orchid Whiskey on the desk in front of him. Each shot probably cost as much as a worker's daily wage.

Poopsie bounded halfway down the room, tripped over her too-long robe and fell flat on her face. Then she jumped up and disappeared in a sudden short cut, appearing with a loud BANG at Malfoy's side. He jumped as if he'd been half awake and she'd startled him.

"Master Draco! Master Draco! You has a visitor!" she squeaked, sounding beside herself with excitement.

Malfoy glared at her, looking a lot more like his photographs now that he had some life in him. "How many times have I told you to dress properly?" His voice was exactly how Hermione remembered it: lazy and menacing both at once. "You know how I hate it when you look ridiculous."

"M-M-master!" stammered the elf, taken aback. "Poopsie wears the latest fashions! The clerk assured Poopsie it is so!"

"The sleeves are too long. The hem is too long. It is completely unacceptable." said Malfoy. "You certainly can't parade about in front of company that way." He drew a slender, purply-black wand and Poopsie started back in alarm.

"No no, don't change it!" the elf shrieked. "Don't change it Master, please, Poopsie will promise to be good all the time! Poopsie will roll up the sleeves." If Hermione had fists, she would have clenched them. How dare he torment the elf in that way? Did he do things like this to her all the time?

"I won't have it said I cannot dress my servants properly. This will only take a moment -- come here, damn you!" Malfoy lunged half out of his chair and managed to grab the house-elf by the robes as she tried to get away.

"But Poopsie likes it the way it is!" the elf wailed, clearly distressed. "Mistress Sherry freed Poopsie, robe is Poopsie's robe to own! Poopsie buys it with last paycheck!" She struggled, then pushed Malfoy away with violent force. He fell back into his chair and Poopsie stood there twisting her ears with her hands and looking woefully ashamed of herself.

There was a long, long pause while Malfoy glared at her with eyes narrowed, panting. House-elves had some very powerful magic, and unlike a bound house-elf the freed Poopsie would be able to use it against him if desperate enough. No doubt there was a certain line Malfoy didn't dare cross, former Master or no. Hermione was glad to see Poopsie show some spine. It made her a little less worried about the elf's work situation.

"Very well then," he said at last, his tone grudging. And then, more haughtily, "Roll the sleeves up if you must, but don't let me catch you looking sloppy again. I won't have it, not at home and not here." He slipped his wand back into his own sleeve.

"Yes Master Draco, right away Master Draco." The elf's voice was small and subdued. "Yous appointment is here," she added after a pause. "Sibyll & Co."

"Yes yes, show them in after you have made yourself presentable."

"Yes Master, right away."

Hermione hurriedly buzzed back into the waiting-room and transformed into her human form. She sat down on one of the chairs and patted her hair back, feeling guilty and breathless. No, there was no thrill like spying.

From just outside the door she could hear a sound of rustling cloth and elf-muttering. Finally Poopsie reappeared, now with her sleeves clumsily rolled up. She seemed to have regained her enthusiasm, or at least put on her "public face". She bounced up to Hermione with a big grin on her goggly mug.

"Master Draco will see you now!" she yelled excitedly, nearly deafening her.

"Thank you, dear," said Hermione with a smile. She stood, picked up her briefcase, and took a deep breath.

Little did she realize it, but her hopes that Trelawney had been speaking at least partial truth were about to be brutally dashed.

* * *

The moment he got a good look at her, Malfoy shot defensively to his feet. He didn't - quite - go for his wand, but it was clear from his startled and appalled expression that she was the last person on earth he'd expected to see here.

Hermione marched bravely up to his desk and stuck out her hand with a professional smile. "Hello, Mr. Malfoy? I'm Hermione Weasley from Sibyll & Co." She extended her hand over his desk.

Revulsion flashed across his elegant features and he stepped back from her hand as if it might radiate germs at him. "I know who you are, Weasley," he hissed. "What on earth possessed you to have the poor taste to show your face here?"

Hermione recoiled from the hatred, loathing, and near-panic in his pale grey eyes. She had feared it would be bad, but she had never thought it would be as bad as this. Trelawney had promised!

"Miz Trelawney thought - " Hermione began.

"Well, she thought wrong!" Malfoy snapped. Now he did draw his wand, and pointed it straight at Hermione's face. "Get. Out. Now."

Hermione's heart hammered as she stared down eight inches of exotic hardwood and decided a strategic retreat was probably in order.

"OK let's not do anything rash. I can tell you need some time to think about this." Hermione backed away carefully, not taking her eyes off the wand's quivering dark tip. She hadn't had a wand pointed at her in anger in more than twenty years. Malfoy had never been formally charged for assaulting anyone but Aurors, but the look on his face suggested he was seconds from making an exception. "I'll just go now," she gulped, "and you can er think things out, and send me an owl if you change your mind." She smiled weakly, then turned and fled, feeling the wand aimed at her back all the way out the door.

Poopsie jumped up from her desk as Hermione charged through the mustard-colored waiting room.

"Miz Weasley! Miz Weasley! Wait for Poopsie!" The elf bounced after Hermione.

"I'm sorry, I'm in a bit of a hurry," said Hermione, who planned to go strangle Trelawney and hide the body somewhere even Divination would never be able to find it. Poopsie latched onto her sleeve anyway and began aplogizing tearfully.

"Oh Miz Weasley, Poopsie is very, very sorry if Master was ill-tempered to Miz Weasley. Times is very hard and not that that makes it OK at all, no Miz Weasley, not OK at all and Poopsie understands that, Poopsie does."

"It's quite all right," Hermione insisted, as she dragged the elf down the hallway on her free arm, with her briefcase and broomstick banging about her knees on her other side. She could hear Malfoy bellow Poopsie's name from back in the office. Somehow when uttered by an enraged wizard with a Death Eater's reputation, the elf's name didn't sound humorous at all. "Shouldn't you go see what he wants?"

"Oh yes, Miz Weasley, but first Poopsie wants to apologize again and again for all the hard feelings, and he shouldn't have threatened you not at all. Master is a bad Master, and Poopsie should go shut her ears in a file drawer for saying so even if Poopsie is free, because Master has been so good to Poopsie, but " the elf continued to ramble on breathlessly as she bounced and jolted along at Hermione's side.

"No," Hermione interrupted firmly, "Malfoy has not been good to you, he's been taking advantage of you. You should go to the Department of Elf Services immediately for some counselling so you can get away from him as soon as possible. Now if you don't mind?" Hermione yanked her arm free and plunged into the lift.

Poopsie gasped, then hurried to follow, barely making it in before Hermione slammed the gate shut.

"Miz Weasley, you is not giving up is you?" The elf grabbed the safety button and moved the lever to "down", causing the lift to lurch into motion. "Giving up on Batwing and Master Malfoy? Because Master really needs Miz Weasley's help even if Master doesn't know it. Miz Trelawney sees, she knows what is best. Poopsie wishes Miz Weasley comes back very soon to help out."

"What Malfoy, who is not your Master, needs is to have some manners knocked into him once and for all. Then he needs to dump this useless company, go to a nice alcohol abuse centre, clean himself up, and get a job. And I don't mean his Ministry position, I mean a real job that requires actual work."

Poopsie's mouth dropped open, scandalized. "Miz Weasley! That not very nice!"

But Hermione's fear was fading quickly, with the result that she was really starting to get angry.

That Malfoy had the gall to actually threaten her with magic! Who did he think he was? She might have been doing research for most of her adult life, but she had beaten Malfoy's grades in both Charms and DADA for seven years running at Hogwarts. And she had five unruly children to contend with and the entire Burrow to keep up by herself. Charms and curses she knew. He was lucky she hadn't transformed him into a mouse and taken him home in her pocket for the cats to toy with and devour. In fact, she had half a mind to do that right now.

When the lift gate slammed open on the first floor, Hermione took one step out of it then spun on her heel and marched back in.

"Wait! Miz Weasley, where is you going?" Poopsie wailed.

"To teach that "

"Poopsie doesn't think that's such a good idea Miz Weasley," interrupted the elf, dragging her back out of the lift by sheer brute force. The diminutive elf really was amazingly strong for her size. "Poopsie knows you is angry, but is best if yous just go home now. OK?"

"I can handle Malfoy."

"Poopsie knows that, Miz Weasley, and Poopsie is very sorry you is so angry but Poopsie can't let you do that."

As the elf dragged her through the lobby, Hermione saw the receptionist and three other people turn to watch them go by. A moment later, they all turned quickly back to each other and coins began to exchange hands. What had they bet on this time, how many minutes the new consultant would last before being thrown out or running screaming in frustration? She gritted her teeth.

A moment later, they had passed through the main doors and emerged into the fresh morning air. "Poopsie wants to thank Miz Weasley for coming and helping out," the house-elf began, bobbing zealously.

"Don't mention it," said Hermione abruptly, before the elf's mouth could really get motoring. She threw a hip over her broomstick.

"Bye bye Miz Weasley!" Poopsie squealed and waved, enthusiasm completely undampened by Hermione's rudeness. One more slave in an unfair system where rights weren't protected and people thought they could mistreat others any way they wanted.

Hermione growled and hurled herself toward the sky. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself somewhere, change to her Animagus form, and spy on people she had never heard of and would never see again. And to heck with Batwing, Malfoy, his house-elf, and Trelawney. And while she was at it, to heck with Ron too. Especially Ron too.

* * *

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	6. Trelawney's Owls

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 6: Trelawney's Owls

* * *

_Trelawney,_

_We need to talk. Now._

_Draco L. Malfoy  
Owner  
Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical_

* * *

_Dear Ms. Trelawney,_

_I am sorry to owl you instead of coming by in person but in the interests of keeping my job I thought I'd better wait until I've cooled off a bit before making an appearance at the office. Regarding Draco Malfoy, are you absolutely sure you spoke to him about me? Because when I showed up at Batwing this morning he behaved as if he'd had no idea I was coming. He wouldn't even speak to me, and his house-elf kicked me out! Please let me know what is going on as soon as possible._

_--Hermione Gran Weasley_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Where are you? This is the fifth owl I've sent in response to your letter, and they all claim they can't find you. Regarding Draco Malfoy, don't you worry about a thing. I've got him handled._

_Sibyll Trelawney  
Enchantress, Diviner, Problem Solver Extraordinaire  
Sibyll & Co. Know-it-All Consultants_

* * *

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_I am interested in making use of your consulting services. I am in need of Charms expertise to facilitate the construction of wards around a castle I have been contracted to build. Do you think a Knowitall Ball filled by the right expert would be sufficient, or would it be necessary to hire a full blown consultant? Enclosed is a limited specification for the wards as listed in the original project documents. See my changes in red._

_Matt Nables  
Blitz & Clowd Clifftop Dwellings_

* * *

_Dear Sibyll,_

_I'm going to be in town to do a signing on my latest book, _We Can't All be Me_. I was wondering if you'd like to have a cup of tea and maybe go out on the town and maybe more? Just for old times sake? I hear you've made quite a name for yourself. I knew you had it in you, you trickster you! Looking forward (get it? Ha ha!) to hearing from you soon._

_--Gilderoy "The Phoenix" Lockhart_

* * *

_To: Customer Service Department  
Knowitall Ball, Ltd._

_Dear Sir or Madam, I have a question about my Knowitall ball. I was making it up as an anniversary present for my wife and I accidentally included that I know she's been cheating on me. Is there any way I can erase just that part without buying a new ball or doing all my work over again? Please reply ASAP._

_--Sincerely, Anonymous (please reply using this owl)_

* * *

_Dear Sibyll,_

_Sorry to keep asking you for help, but you have so much more experience than I do. What do you do if you know the students are making up the answers for the homework assignments? There isn't any way to prove they didn't actually See anything is there?_

_Shalandra James  
Professor of Divination  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

* * *

_Dear Ms. Trelawney,_

_We've looked over your quotation and everything sounds good. We're still in the process of determining if we can use pre-owned, recorded Knowitalls or if only the clean ones broken in manufacture will do. We estimate our experiments will be complete within the week, and then you should be receiving our first order for crushed Knowitall powder. Thank you very much, and we're looking forward to doing business with you._

_Michael N. Prescott  
Head of R&D  
Mama's Magic Mirror Co., Ltd._

* * *

_Dear Madame Sibyll,_

_Do you do horoscopes? I found your card on the floor of the Foot and Mouse last night, under the bar. Did you leave it there on purpose so I would find it just when I needed someone the most? How did you know? I think Divination is so dreamy. Please write back soon._

_-- Windblossom (not my real name... do you like it?) _

* * *

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	7. I Fly

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 7: I Fly

* * *

The streamlined white bulk of the _Lucius_ shifted gently, nudging down against the Muggle car tyres arranged on the ground beneath it. A soft squeak escaped their union, and then the yacht eased up again on the breeze with a faint rasp of rope on wood.

It seemed impossible that something so big could be so incredibly quiet. And yet it was; Hermione could hear people walking around and talking through the open windows of the buildings, birds singing from the gutters and drainspouts, and thuds and shouts from the loading docks some distance away.

The _Lucius_ resembled a Muggle racing-yacht only superficially. It had two hulls in mirror image to one another, like an ocean-going yacht mated to its own calm reflection. Its twin masts, now folded back at rest, bore much of the same hardware as their single Muggle counterpart would. But this graceful craft was meant to fly, not crawl upon water.

There was a tiny round porthole, no more than palm-sized, that had been left ajar. Hermione had buzzed inside and explored the interior of the yacht, followed the curves of the teak-panelled walls and circled over the narrow bunks where the crew would sleep if anybody was there. It was as clean and well-kept as the outside, and entirely bare of personal details. All except for one room at the bow of the top hull - the room where the porthole had been open. There a somewhat larger bunk was tucked into the point of the bow. There was also a very small desk and some storage compartments. That bunk was made up with blankets, and someone's personal effects were stashed in every possible nook in the cramped room: clothes, papers, a wand. Hermione landed on the bunk and her acute fly senses told her that this was Malfoy's place, and he had slept there only hours before. She wondered if the wager-making staff in the front lobby knew that he slept here sometimes. She wondered how often it happened. It didn't look like the kind of place where an arrogant pureblood like Malfoy would be caught dead sleeping -- more like a servant's niche. Maybe the fact that it was inside of a yacht made a difference.

Several times, Trelawney's owls flew by overhead, circling in puzzlement before leaving with letters for Hermione undelivered.

* * *

When Hermione had first left Batwing by broomstick, she had been fully prepared to never come back. Her frustration had sustained her for nearly ten minutes - long enough for her Whisk Evoca, the latest top-of-the-line sporty business model, to carry her well out of eyeshot of the factory.

Then, self-preservation and her damnable Gryffindor sense of responsibility kicked in, with an awful sinking feeling. She had screwed up big time, and she knew it.

It didn't matter that Trelawney had lied; Trelawney failed her a lot, but that didn't mean Trelawney would be understanding if _she_ failed. No doubt Trelawney even thought she had a good reason for setting Hermione up like that. Or maybe it had been an accident - who knows? The point was, Trelawney was paying Hermione very well to clean up her messes and clean up her clients' messes too. There was no way Hermione and Ron could have had five kids in Hogwarts simultaneously on a Quidditch player's salary, and Trelawney wasn't handing all that money over for nothing. She expected brilliance out of Hermione Weasley.

And then there was Draco Malfoy. The more she thought about it, the more she realized his reaction to her had been one of sheer terror. Well, why not? She'd have whipped out her wand and started screaming aggressively too if she'd, say, discovered a Death Eater climbing in her bedroom window at 3 AM. Though Hermione herself had never done anything to him (except maybe slapping him that one time back at Hogwarts a _long_ time ago ) a lot of people very close to her had. She was just lucky he hadn't started hurling curses before the first word. The smart thing to do would have been to contact him in writing the first time, and keep communicating that way until she was sure he was OK with a face to face meeting. Maybe the entire thing could have been done by owl from start to finish... well, maybe not.

Hermione's first step upon coming to her uncomfortable realizations was to land and send off an owl to Trelawney asking for an explanation. She knew she'd better, because it was guaranteed that Malfoy was going to demand an explanation too -- probably in terms that did not flatter Hermione's performance. Then Trelawney would have to talk to Malfoy and convince him to give Hermione another try that was assuming Hermione still had her job after this fiasco.

And Hermione did want to keep her job.

Once the letter was sent, she shifted into her Animagus form and turned back in the direction she'd come from.

* * *

For at least an hour Hermione explored Batwing, weaving in and out of open windows, buzzing over production floors, tasting the sultry heat of greenhouses. It would take weeks to really examine it thoroughly, but she had seen enough to be boggled by the sheer scale of it. The company must have millions of individual items in its catalogue. Changing the direction of such a behemoth would be a difficult task, but Hermione was already getting some ideas for how to improve manufacturing efficiency and employee morale. Now if only she could get the client-relations portion of this assignment back on track!

The first, and probably most important problem, was that she could not think of a single incentive Malfoy would have to agree to work with her specifically. But leaving that aside, then there was the nagging question of why Malfoy was so gung-ho on making Batwing profitable at all. For all she had been able to determine, his acquisition of the company had been purely accidental. Though the company would have been worth a good deal had it been profitable, in its current condition it was more of a liability.

But assuming that Malfoy had a good reason for wanting the company to work, then there was the question of what he personally was bringing to the table. Malfoy's previous experience with owning manufacturers had ended disastrously with the monopoly-building scandal, and he had a limited (and poor) track record of direct business management. While his family's finances were a well kept secret, he'd probably been kept on a tight rein all his life in that regard, first by his parents and then by goblin accountants. There was no guarantee that he knew how money worked at all. There was, however, an off chance that he had been trained in serious financial matters. It would be good if he had. It would be good, in fact, if he had been trained in anything at all.

Some detractors claimed Malfoy had no personal expertise in any area - aside from being very good at pissing people off - and basically lived off his inheritance and/or as a parasite on working society. Arthur Weasley, however, had once told her that Malfoy had notable specialties when it came to spells and curses. She only wished she'd asked about that in detail at the time, since it would certainly be awkward to do so now.

Malfoy's current position at the Ministry might another clue as to his personal skill set, if any. He'd been initially hired as a clerk by the Department of Supernatural Relations, shortly after he'd resurfaced following the war. The public perception was that this position had actually been arranged several years earlier by his father, who'd been highly influential at the time. Amazingly, the department was still willing to honour the arrangement despite all that had occurred in between.

Since then Malfoy had risen through the ranks on his own merit, and now held the position of Liaison to the rest of the Ministry, representing the Department of Supernatural Affairs in meetings, during votes, and in the courtroom.

There was nowhere else for him to rise to in his department; he couldn't become Head of it without any experience with actual Supernatural Relations, and it was well known that Malfoy's knack for pissing off nonhumans far outstripped his abilities with humans. There was no way anyone would intentionally let him come face to face with an entity possessing the power to destroy the wizarding world on a whim.

However, the position he did hold gave him a lot of power and visibility among the Ministry set, and because the possibility of a lateral transfer to another department was always open, it was not perceived as a dead end either. To have achieved such a rank suggested he had some valuable skills; it just wasn't obvious to an outsider what those might be.

And unfortunately, Hermione needed to know what they were. The employees of Batwing weren't going to accept Malfoy in command unless they perceived him as having some quality of leadership or expertise that Batwing needed.

Before she'd explored Batwing, and before she'd settled on the yacht as her waiting-point, Hermione had tried to spy on Malfoy personally in order to find out what those skills might be.

This had proved impossible because she'd returned to find he'd fallen fast asleep at his desk.

And he'd been that way for the two solid hours since.

* * *

A voice. Malfoy's voice, she thought, faintly audible over the outdoor noises.

Hermione buzzed up sharply against the face of the building and re-entered it through one of the windows.

All the windows were wide open, and the sun shone straight in illuminating every corner of the office. Someone had watered the plants on the window ledge; the muddy dirt was dark and lurid under bleached dusty leaves. The owl cage was empty, its silver gilt wire door standing ajar, the silk cloth lying crumpled on the table beside it. The Bulgarian racing broom was still lying where it had been.

Draco Malfoy was laid back in the executive chair with his hands lax on the chair-arms, head fallen against the head rest and turned to one side. A blind had been pulled down to protect him from the sun; his was the only shadowy spot in the office.

An owl waited patiently amidst the heap of clutter on the desk, a letter tied to its leg. The envelope was gold and silver with colourful iridescent sparkles, marking it as official Sibyll & Co. correspondence. Hermione wondered how long the owl had been waiting there.

The voice she'd heard had been Malfoy talking in his sleep, and he was still asleep now. His skinny face twitched in reaction to something only he could see.

"Nnn," he moaned. "Mumble mumble Snitch."

_Snitch?_

* * *

**BANG!** A crackling burst of energy and a brilliant flash of light exploded through the room. Malfoy came awake instantly, shooting to his feet and snatching automatically for his wand. Hermione and the post owl had also leaped up in surprise; all three collided in mid-air and Hermione got bounced in the opposite direction. Malfoy clawed wildly at the flapping owl and managed to shove it out of his face.

_"Expelliarmus!"_

The two Aurors who had accompanied the flash of light darted forward as Malfoy's wand flew into one of their hands. In the next moment, they had converged on him and grabbed him.

"What the ." he began, but bit off the words as they dragged him away from his chair and shoved him up against the shelves behind it. "Get your hands off me!" he hissed. "What is this?"

The older of the Aurors, Rudeo Nesbitt, seemed to have acquired a new young partner who Hermione did not recognize. "Always check this one for spare wands," Nesbitt told his partner. "He's usually carrying at least one, and he's not shy about using them. Just ask poor old Nix Johnson."

Johnson was an Auror who had been badly injured in the line of duty, hit by a nasty curse that had blown him limb from limb. Johnson had survived, but had never worked again. Hermione had not heard that it was Malfoy who had thrown that particular curse. Maybe Nesbitt was referring to some other incident.

"Yes, sir," said the partner.

As the younger Auror proceeded to search Malfoy's person, Nesbitt addressed Malfoy formally. "You, Draco Lucius Malfoy, have broken the conditions of your probation by using, or intending to use, a flying vehicle."

"Like hell," Malfoy snarled. "Tell him to get his Mudblood hands off me or you'll both regret it. I'll file a -"

"Let me let you in on a little secret, Malfoy," said Nesbitt smoothly. "In our department we have a special inbox just for your complaints. It's called the fireplace. We haven't had to buy wood in years."

The other Auror, the young one, tried to hide a grin. "Here's the spare," he said.

"Get a Prior on it," said Nesbitt. The younger Auror turned away to cast _Prior Incantato_.

Nesbitt smiled nastily at Malfoy. "Now, where is the broom? Is that it?" he indicated the Ignatov lying across the room on the conference table.

"I refuse to take part in this charade," said Malfoy. "You have no right -"

Nesbitt grabbed him by the collar of his robes and twisted. He pressed the tip of Malfoy's own wand against his throat. "Yes or no?"

Malfoy paled. "No."

"Where is it then?"

"There was no broom. The stupid charm went off for no reason while I was asleep!"

"I find that difficult to believe," said Nesbitt. He let go of Malfoy's robes and reached for his left hand instead. Malfoy tried to squirm away but the Auror caught his wrist in a vicelike grip.

"Don't be coy, Malfoy, everybody knows what else is up your left sleeve," smirked Nesbitt. "Why try to hide it?" Hermione assumed he was referring to a Dark Mark. All she could see right now, though, was a braided silver bracelet wound tightly around Malfoy's wrist. The skin around it was red and sore-looking. Hermione realized that must be the physical component of the restraining charm. The crackle of energy she'd heard must have been the shock it delivered. No wonder Malfoy had jumped up so quickly!

"I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about," said Malfoy stiffly. "Aagh!" This last was as Nesbitt twisted his arm suddenly and forcefully, smashing him back into the shelves this time face-first.

The younger Auror looked on in some dismay. Hermione knew that if he spent much time partnered with Nesbitt, he'd be seeing a lot more of that sort of thing.

"Whatcha got, Benkmann?" said Nesbitt.

The younger Auror gathered his wits. "Uh he hasn't used this wand since the last time it was checked."

"Here, do this one then," said Nesbitt, handing over Malfoy's primary wand.

"Zitanwood and dragon nose feeler!" exclaimed Benkmann as he examined it. "This is probably worth more than both our yearly salaries!"

"Zitan for endurance, feeler for control," grunted Nesbitt. "That wand is nothing more than a crutch, Benkmann. You're better off using your school wand. That way your magical prowess won't degenerate. Of course, the fact that your family hasn't practiced generations of inbreeding helps."

"If you damage that wand, so help me " began Malfoy. Then he hissed in pain and fury as Nesbitt twisted his arm a little farther and pinned him harder against the book case. " I'll make you regret it!" he managed to grate out, before he had to shut up in favour of concentrating on gasping for breath.

"There must be fifty beautification charms from this morning alone!" exclaimed Benkmann, after a bewildered pause.

"The rich and powerful are just plain old blokes like the rest of us," Nesbitt said. "They just go to more trouble to pretend they aren't."

"Maybe we should reverse the charms just in case he's hiding anything," suggested Benkmann.

"No," Nesbitt lectured. "Precedent clearly states that removal of personal beauty glamours without a warrant is an invasion of privacy. Millicent Bulstrode vs. the Ministry of Magic, 2014."

Malfoy started to smirk at that, but Nesbitt moved a hand up to grab his pinioned forearm hard, just under the inside of the elbow where a Dark Mark would be, fingers digging in cruelly. Malfoy's smirk vanished instantly and his eyes clenched shut.

"But if you want to see," Nesbitt said to Benkmann, "we have plenty of photos in his file back at the office."

"OK," said the trainee, who had been watching the wand's output and hadn't seen what Nesbitt had done. "But this can't be right. There's nothing in here but a month's worth of Apparate and a year's worth of vanity charms. Who'd own a wand like this for doing just those?"

"I hate to tell you this, but we got the Priors on that wand only three days ago. So you're only seeing two days worth of activity."

"Two days? That's insane!"

"What, that he's app-happy or that he spends a few hours a day in front of the mirror?"

Benkmann sputtered. "Both, I guess."

Hermione wondered what on earth Malfoy was _doing_ with all the beautification spells. He wasn't _that_ good looking. Well, perhaps now wasn't a fair time to judge him - many people didn't look their best when jammed front-on into a bookshelf with their arm bent at an unnatural angle. She wished she'd paid more attention before.

"Keep those. Now go over and check out the broom."

"Yes, sir."

As Benkmann moved to do as Nesbitt directed, Nesbitt finally released Malfoy. Malfoy turned defensively to face him, back still against the bookshelves.

"This broom hasn't been flown in three weeks," said Benkmann. "It hasn't even been picked up since then."

"Ah, but you've thought about it, haven't you Malfoy?" grinned Nesbitt.

Malfoy drew himself up in outrage. Unfortunately this was not a very impressive sight, as he was red-faced and wheezing and holding his arm tenderly with his other hand. Also -- Hermione couldn't help but notice -- Ron was right. Malfoy really _was_ outweighed by the Chudley Cannons Seeker.

"The Minister will hear of this," he said with as much dignity as he could manage.

"Sure thing," said Nesbitt. "And now, the yacht." The two Aurors Disapparated.

"The ?" Malfoy repeated. Then he rushed over to the window. Hermione could hear Nesbitt and Benkmann talking again down below. She buzzed over to see and sure enough they had reappeared there, and were walking purposefully toward the quietly bobbing _Lucius_.

Malfoy slammed his palm down on the window ledge in fury. He whirled back to the desk and scrabbled in one of the desk drawers, came up with a big, sticklike black wand. With a flick of the wrist he Disapparated and then reappeared in the courtyard right in front of the Aurors, facing them. It was actually quite a fancy bit of Apparition. Hermione was impressed.

"You stay away from that," said Malfoy furiously, scurrying to intercept them. "You have no warrant to -"

"It's a flying vehicle isn't it?" smiled Nesbitt, who did not seem at all surprised to see Malfoy had followed. "How do we know you didn't use this instead of that broom?"

"I didn't use anything! I was asleep, you moronic imbeciles! Whoever cast that restraining charm ought to be fired for incompetence!"

Benkmann pointed at the wand Draco was waving. "That's not one of the wands we got the Priors on."

"Well spotted, Benkmann," said Nesbitt approvingly. "Hand it over, Malfoy."

"It's not even mine," said Malfoy in annoyance. "So I'm hardly willing to take responsibility for whatever the previous owner did with it. Speaking of _mine_, I want it back. And my spare too. Now."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," said Nesbitt. "You see, we need to take all three of them back to the office for more extensive testing. You can have them back day after tomorrow maybe?"

In a fury, Malfoy smacked the wand he had in his hand against the alow rail of the _Lucius_ and the thick black rod snapped in half with a flare of sparks.

"You did that on purpose, you sick fuck," said Benkmann, looking green. Nobody liked to see a wand deliberately broken.

Malfoy looked stunned, as if he hadn't done it on purpose at all. Hermione for her part found herself doubly impressed by Malfoy's using that wand for Apparition earlier. Anyone who'd Apparate with someone else's wand was either incredibly brave or very, very good. And anyone who'd Apparate with a wand flawed enough to snap in half with one good whack would have to be just plain insane. Being a perfectly sane coward, Malfoy was probably just realizing he'd done a really stupid thing and that didn't even consider the fact that he had just managed to disarm himself.

He quickly pulled himself together. "I'd like to see you prove it," he spat, tossing the remains of the wand aside. "And in the meantime, stay the hell away from my boat."

"Benkmann, go aboard and check it out," said Nesbitt. "You, stay here where I can keep an eye on you." He grasped Malfoy by the elbow hard and dragged him some distance away from the boat. By now Hermione had realized Nesbitt had a purpose in always grabbing Malfoy by the left arm. If Malfoy really bore the Dark Mark, he wouldn't dare show the bruises to anyone and so Nesbitt would have no fear of repercussion for the roughness. Not only that, but if what Hermione had read was true, being grabbed there would hurt a lot.

As Benkmann climbed up and in and started to rummage about inside, removing panels and performing revealing-charms, Malfoy stood tensely and watched the outside of the yacht. As the bumpings and thumpings got more pronounced and various objects started flying out of the topside companionway to litter the deck, Malfoy opened his mouth to object more than once. Each time, Nesbitt gave him a warning squeeze. Once, Nesbitt moved his hand toward his wand pocket. Each time, Malfoy subsided again, though he looked more and more furious.

Then the alow companionway popped open and big canvas bags started dropping out and bouncing off the concrete and tyres underneath. Benkmann jumped down himself, and then began to drag sails out of the bags.

"What is he looking for?" shrieked Malfoy. "You're crazy, there's nothing there!"

"Just calm down," said Nesbitt, but Malfoy had finally lost all control.

"Do you have any idea how many days it took to prepare that boat for the race it's supposed to compete in only _two hours?_ You're ruining everything!"

"We're just performing a routine -"

"You are not! It's harassment and I won't stand for it!"

"There's nothing you can do about it Malfoy," said Nesbitt. "The best you can do for yourself is not put up any resistance."

"Resistance my ass, I haven't done a damn thing!"

"You're hysterical," said Nesbitt. He took out his wand and hit Malfoy with a calming charm. He may have laid it on a little too thick; Malfoy shook his head, looking dazed. Nesbitt put his wand away and helped Malfoy sink down to sit on the ground. They watched as Benkmann continued to drag crinkly sails out, and as the ones already laid out got rucked up by the breeze and slid slowly over against the heap of rubbish cluttering the edge of the courtyard. When he was finished, Benkmann went back inside. More objects fell out or were tossed from portholes and other openings: foul weather gear, ropes, bits of hardware, and even kitchen implements.

Finally, Benkmann emerged with a plastic tub Hermione remembered seeing in the kitchen area. It now contained a pile of papers, as well as a large diary-like book, a Knowitall, and the wand she'd seen in the forepeak cabin.

Malfoy staggered to his feet, grabbing Nesbitt for balance. The calming charm seemed to be wearing off rather suddenly. "You can't take those!"

"You'll get them back in a few days. We just have to check them for important evidence."

"That's the ship's log! We can't race without that. And the crystal ball I need that. And those papers those are for work."

"Too bad," said Benkmann less than sympathetically. "They're for evidence."

Draco growled and tried to lunge forward to snatch the tub from him, but Nesbitt's iron-like grip kept him from going too far. "You bastards!" he yelled, struggling furiously against the much larger Auror. Yes, the calming charm had definitely expired, and Malfoy was well on his way to completely losing it again. Benkmann must have seen something alarming in Malfoy's eyes, for he stepped back, stuffing the tub under one arm, his other hand fumbling for his wand.

Nesbitt pulled Malfoy back as Benkmann pointed his wand. _"Stup-"_

"Ah-ah-ah," chided Nesbitt, stepping between them and pushing Benkmann's hand down. "With this one, Body Bind first, then Stupefy. Otherwise he'll turn and take it deliberately in the back, bang his head on something hard on the way down, stay in hospital for four or five days longer than really necessary, and then you'll find yourself sitting in a court of inquiry trying to explain away cursing-in-the-back and unnecessary-use-of-force-against-an-unarmed-suspect. If you're really lucky you'll only get a warning and Supernatural Relations will ding us for Malfoy's loss-of-productivity. Or, maybe he'll actually manage to get you fired. It's happened before, you know, though not on a person's first day."

Benkmann blanched. Then he raised his wand again, the body binding spell on his lips.

"Don't bother," Nesbitt interrupted again. "He's good at looking mean, but he's harmless without his wand." He pushed Malfoy roughly away from him.

"You're going to pay for this, Nesbitt," spat Malfoy.

Nesbitt only smiled. "Your father used to say the same thing. Come on, Benkmann."

The two Aurors vanished, first Nesbitt and then Benkmann carrying the tub.

Malfoy stooped with a Seeker's speed and snatched up half the broken wand, hurled it vindictively at the space where they had stood an instant before. However, he wasn't quite fast enough to cause a splinching.

He continued to stare after them for a moment, and then slammed his palms impotently against the side of the boat, bowing his head between his arms. He was breathing hard with reaction, nearly in tears so great was his fury.

"I'm going to kill him," he repeated to himself. "I'm going to kill him. Bastard!"

Hermione saw faces in many of the windows overlooking the courtyard - the confrontation had had a lot of witnesses. Malfoy seemed to realize this around the same time. He shoved himself away from the _Lucius_, glared poisonously up at the windows all around them. Then turned and stomped in the direction of the building where his office was, leaving the contents of the boat lying where they had been scattered. People who had been watching from the doorway melted into the darkness within the building, avoiding him.

* * *

Hermione followed his progress up the four flights of stairs. He charged all the way from the bottom to the fourth floor without slowing down and arrived red-faced and panting heavily. "The Killing Curse is too good for Nesbitt," he said, rubbing his left arm, unaware that anyone could hear him. Hermione followed as he made his way quickly down the hall to the nasty yellow waiting room that fronted his office.

"Poopsie!" he yelled, but the house-elf was nowhere in sight. He barged into his own office, startling the owl that was still waiting. More papers scattered on the floor as it flapped into the air, then landed on the desk again.

"Poopsie!" he called again. "Damn that elf," he muttered as he flopped panting into his chair. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair, then let them fall into his lap again, head thudding back against the chair-back. He looked exhausted.

The owl shifted about hopefully, dislodging a couple of items from the heap on the desk so they fell on the floor. It uttered a small, plaintive hoot.

Malfoy groaned. "All right give it here then." He leaned forward and grasped the owl, jerking the sparkly envelope free of its leg. The owl fell backward when released and flailed about indignantly. Malfoy did not seem to notice. He opened the letter with one hand while fishing about in the mess on the desk with the other. The owl opened its beak to hoot in annoyance, but then it saw what Malfoy's gropings had uncovered: a mouse-shaped pottery bowl filled with silver sickles and imprinted with the words HELP YOURSELF. This was definitely something that had been inherited from the previous owner of Batwing. Hermione would stake her life on it. Though it had probably had knuts in it before. The owl's beak snapped shut and it climbed to its feet, into the bowl, and began stuffing its ankle purse.

Trelawney's letter must have been brief. Malfoy glanced over it twice, then tossed it aside before Hermione got a chance to read over his shoulder. He reached for some powder from another, smaller bowl and tossed it powder into the fireplace. "Vincent Crabbe."

There was a flash of sparks, and then Crabbe's face appeared. Hermione hadn't seen him since her school days. He still looked huge, meaty, and ugly. He also looked concerned.

"Draco! What happened?"

"Nesbitt and some new sidekick of his were just here and trashed the _Privileged."_

"My god, what's the damage?"

"No damage, they just removed everything that was removable and dragged it out all over the ground, sails and all. I can't do anything about it either, I have something I must attend to right away. So unless one of you can make it down here well before the race I don't think you can use her today."

"Bloody hell. I'm in the middle of a meeting, I can't leave for another hour. I'll floo Marcus and ask him if he can make it. He's got family visiting him this week, maybe they can give him a hand. Why in the world did they do it?"

"Looking for evidence they said. They claimed I might have been flying that instead of a broom."

"You let them catch you flying again?" exclaimed Crabbe. "Don't you ever learn, you crazy son of a bitch?"

"I did not fly! I didn't even _think_ about flying. The damn charm went off while I was dreaming about Quidditch."

"You're joking!" Crabbe looked horrified. "Do you think they tweaked the sensitivity up again?"

"I don't doubt it," muttered Malfoy. "I mean, why the hell not? They're doing everything else they can to drive me insane."

"Hey um did you change the name back again? You called her the _Privileged."_

Malfoy raked fingers through his hair. "God, no, I'm not thinking straight. It's still _Lucius."_

"You look tired."

"I haven't had four consecutive hours of sleep in months. You try it and see how you turn out."

Crabbe winced. "No thanks. Don't you worry about the race. I'll work something out. You just go on with what you need to do."

"Thanks, Vince. And sorry."

Crabbe shook his head. "It's not your fault. I gotta go now. Bye."

Crabbe's face disappeared from the fire.

"Poopsie!" Malfoy yelled again, still with no response. After waiting a few moments, he muttered to himself and got out of his chair. A liquor cabinet in the corner yielded a half bottle of fiery green Ogden's Extra Special and a clean shot glass. He poured himself a shot and knocked it back while he stood there. He remained standing there for a moment, eyes closed, then went back to his desk and flopped into the chair again. The bottle and glass went onto the desk.

He pushed back his hair again and then pulled open a drawer and rummaged around, coming up with a Swiss Army Knife. Carefully extracting a tiny ivory-colored wand from its end, he used it to cast a couple of charms to restore his frazzled hair to its former smoothness and get the red out of his eyes.

Then he filled the glass again and put the bottle down beside it.

"God, I'm dreading this," he muttered to himself. He reached for the powder again and threw some in the fire. "Sibyll Trelawney."

This was the part Hermione had been dreading as well.

* * *

_Definitions:_

_Alow: the opposite of aloft._

_Companionway: doorway on a boat._

* * *

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	8. Owls and Bludgers

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 8: Owls and Bludgers

* * *

_Dear Dad,_

_Thank you for the Shazam Megasprite! Everybody is totally in awe. Mee Chang had said if I got a better broom than her Nimble-3XL she'd eat it (her broom). So Jan and Ginger transformed one of the school brooms into cake (complete with frosting for the logo) and insisted she eat most of it for lunch today. She was sooo sick afterward! We couldn't stop laughing. I can't wait to see the look on her face when they present her with the rest of it for dinner tonight._

_About the whole Sal Malfoy thing, I don't get why you're so upset. How is it poor sportsmanship? First of all I didn't even do anything, unless you count giving Georgia and Freida the idea, and you know how they are. Secondly, it's not as if "Sally" did anything for his team anyway. He wasn't even good enough to play a position, and the only reason they even let him be Captain is because his rich daddy takes the entire team to Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks every time they win a game. They'll probably play better now that he's gone and Sheba Flint has taken over. I'd say I did them a favour!_

_I honestly don't see why everyone is so upset about his missing the rest of the school year either. Everybody seems to have overlooked how awful that little creep's grades were right before this happened. He almost didn't even get to come back to Hogwarts because he failed half his classes last year. I'm sure he only managed to wriggle back in this year because his dad's on the Board. It's probably a total relief for those Malfoys that this happened -- now he has an excuse to drop out of school without admitting he's stupid. If it hadn't been for his grades, I am sure he would have been OK in a day or two._

_Love, Chris_

_P.S. That was awesome how you knocked Krum Jr. off his broomstick! We were listening on the radio when it happened. What an embarrassment though, only 5 minutes into his first Major League game. Oh well :-)_

* * *

_Dear Dad,_

_Mum says I need to learn how to control my temper better. Can you give me any tips on how you do it? Somehow reciting the potions ingredients tables in my head doesn't do it for me. I keep picturing Professor Jigger's face telling me I'm one more spectacularly worthless git in a long line of same. Also I can never remember past Eye of Owl and Toe of Newt. Speaking of forgetting, since my birthday was last week, could you possibly get me "101 Ways to Get Revenge Secretly"? Not that I plan to _use_ it or anything, it just sounds like a good read. Please? Pleeeeeeeaaaaase?_

_Love, Jude_

* * *

_Dear Ron,_

_We've learned Hermione is going to be working closely with Draco Malfoy. We'd be very interested in talking to her about providing us with ongoing information on Malfoy's activities and whereabouts. This may be our big chance to finally bring that Death Eater to justice! We realize that she may have some issues related to client confidentiality how do you recommend we get around that? Can you speak to her about this for us? I heard Chris got on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Congratulations! You must be very proud - I know we are!_

_Love, Dad_

* * *

_Dear Ron,_

_I heard you were going to be at Holyfield again next week and I am so looking forward to seeing you. Last time was most fun, don't you think? Right now I'm wearing the scarf you gave me. And nothing else. I would love to show you everything that can be done with the scarf I've spent hours experimenting. See you soon! By the way my team members suspect nothing._

_Sheila Lasherton  
Harpy on the Outside, Cannon on the Inside!_

* * *

_Dear Dad,_

_I knew you'd love the Everlasting Glue thing. You should have heard little Sally shriek like a girl! How were we to know he has a phobia of cockroaches? I wouldn't have thought he'd have ever seen one before, growing up in a big manor house and all. Well, there is a first time for everything I guess, and why not make the first time extra special?_

_--Love, Freida_

_P.S. Georgia says Hi too!_

* * *

_Dear Dad,_

_Thanks! It really was hilariously funny. There were so many cockroaches stuck to him that after he fainted (out of sheer fright mind you) his limp body tried to crawl its way under the table by cockroach-power. Minnie Crabbe tossed her cookies into the Slytherin pumpkin juice jug and Bart Goyle kept roaring "I'm gonna get whoever did this!" So far, though, he hasn't. I think he's too chicken._

_--Love, Georgia_

_P.S. Freida sends her love. By the way, we need some Fairy Wing Membrane for our next, um, experiment. It's kind of expensive. Any chance you could um ?_

* * *

_Dear Daddy,_

_When are you going to come home? I barely remember what you look like! My friend Megan Chafferty says daddies who ignore their kids are bad men. But my other friend ShellyBellie Longbottom says that doesn't count for famous daddies because being famous is better than lots of letters. I would agree more with her, except my worst enemy Lucia Malfoy's daddy is famous and he sends loads of letters and even cakes and candy! Salazar got them too while he was here. That's not fair. Can't I have both too?_

_Love, NellieBellie_

* * *

_Dear Ron Weasley,_

_I am your #1 fan. I have Chudley Cannons everything in my room and I even have an autographed Bludger from the finals last year. I don't expect you to remember me, but I was the one with the orange hat on. My whole family is travelling through Chudley on our way to holiday a couple of weeks from now and I was wondering if it'd be OK if I stopped by your house and got another autograph? Where do you live? Thanks in advance._

_-- Petey Washington_

* * *

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	9. Crow for Breakfast, Fly for Lunch

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 9: Crow for Breakfast, Fly for Lunch

* * *

Hermione had discovered early on in her employment with Trelawney that it was nearly impossible to hold a sensible conversation with the woman, particularly when Hermione herself had a specific agenda she wished to pursue. At first she had thought it was her fault, but after spying on her boss a while she figured out that everyone else had the same problem. Malfoy appeared to be no exception.

"Draco Malfoy!" Trelawney shrieked delightedly as soon as she saw who was in the fireplace. "How _are_ you doing? It's been ages!"

"It's only been two weeks," he said, sounding a bit strained. He'd clearly planned to confront Trelawney about the Hermione issue, but it was awfully easy to get derailed by one of Trelawney's explosive greetings.

"Oh yes, so it has," Trelawney gushed. "And how is your mother?"

"The same, I suppose," said Malfoy even more reluctantly. "I still haven't heard from her."

"Draco," said Trelawney intensely, leaning forward, a gleam in her eye. "Listen to me. Your mother walks a dangerous path. The stars show a tangled fate at the end of her chosen road. If you love her, you must try to sway her to do the right thing. Otherwise ."

Malfoy picked up the shot glass and knocked it back. "Have you ever tried to talk _your_ mother out of a radical life changing decision?" he drawled in annoyance.

"Er no," admitted Trelawney.

"Besides, I think the other person in her life right now has a good deal more influence than I do."

"Of course, of course," said Trelawney soothingly.

"At any rate, the reason I flooed - " began Malfoy.

"And how is your dear Administrative Assistant?" interrupted Trelawney, beaming.

There was a long pause while Malfoy presumably tried to decide just how much of Trelawney's guff he was willing to put up with in order to get where he wanted to go conversation-wise. After a moment, his shoulders sagged and his face drew into a scowl. "Poopsie? She's hared off on some wild goose chase, she's been gone for hours." He grabbed the bottle and refilled his shot glass.

"Really, dear, you must have had some inkling of what you were getting into when you chose a non-domestic position for a house-elf."

Malfoy's grey eyes narrowed. "If there is one lesson I have learned from all of this, it is to never make important business decisions when suffering from extreme sleep deprivation."

Trelawney seemed unaware of any possible double-meaning in his words. "And what is she chasing down, then?"

He leaned back in his chair, evidently resigned to a long and gruelling conversation. "I vaguely remember her saying something about going to the library to research the origins of the elf/family Bond," he said. "She still hasn't gotten it into her head that our Bond is gone, it's broken, forever."

"You don't think she wants to create a _new _one?" Trelawney seemed titillated by the idea.

"Wants to get me arrested, more like," muttered Malfoy. "I've told her again and again, I don't need that kind of trouble right now. It's like trying to explain the graduated income tax to a cat."

Trelawney twittered in appreciation of the joke. "Really, Draco, you don't give the poor thing enough credit. Why, she's quite bright for a house-elf, and she works so hard to take good care of you."

"Works so hard to drive me insane, more like," Malfoy said, as he downed shot #3.

"Have you managed to reach an accommodation with her regarding her clothing?" asked Trelawney brightly.

"Don't even bring that up. It's become a considerable sore point."

"Come now, how bad could it be? You know, the elves have their own fashions and such, I am sure she is doing perfectly fine by her own standards ."

"Do you know what she did last weekend?" interrupted Malfoy. "She said she was going to a party - some rubbish house-elf party I gather - and she had had bought herself a dress. A _used_ dress, mind you as if I don't pay her well enough to use a seamstress."

"And?" asked Trelawney, seeming amused by Malfoy's indignant expression.

"And it still had the _tag_ on it. While she was wearing it! When I tried to explain to her that the tag was meant to be thrown away, she became hysterical and wouldn't let me remove it."

Trelawney burst out laughing. "That is so sweet!"

"It is not sweet! It's ridiculous," snarled Malfoy.

"It's so sweet how you care about her, that's all."

"And," said Malfoy, as if he hadn't heard that last bit, "she had the audacity to _punch_ me. Twice! All because of a bloody price tag. She left a huge welt it took 3 charms to get rid of, and my ribs still hurt days later."

"I certainly hope you didn't file a formal complaint about that." As Malfoy shifted about uncomfortably, Trelawney's eyes widened. "You didn't!"

Malfoy scowled. "No, I wanted to, but I didn't. I can't even show my face around the Department of Domestic Disturbances since that damned Rita Skeeter blew the whole Amexia thing out of proportion last Spring. Now they just laugh like hyenas whenever they see me coming." He gulped down shot #4.

Hermione remembered the "Amexia thing" well. Amexia Brandt was, as far as Hermione knew, Malfoy's most recent foray onto the dating scene. A tiny little thing with a tongue like a harpy, Amexia had various suspected Death Eater connections and had been sorted into Slytherin at Hogwarts about five years after Hermione and Draco's class had left the school. This past spring, she and Malfoy had appeared publicly together repeatedly over about two months. The "Amexia Incident", which as far as Hermione knew was the circumstance of their break-up, occurred publicly in, of all places, a Muggle shopping mall.

The eyewitness version Hermione had heard (from Parvati Patil, who actually worked in the mall as a professional Psychic) was that Amexia had lit into Malfoy, screeching her head off for several minutes before whipping out her wand and beginning to fire curses in all directions. Malfoy had held his own during the verbal part of the argument, but left the scene rather suddenly when it came to wand work. This was only sensible; the Ministry had descended upon Brandt within seconds of the first curse hurled, and promptly arrested her for exposing Muggles to magic. It had taken weeks to track down all the Muggle witnesses and erase their memories of the incident, and even longer to stamp out the stories created by their relaying the experience to others.

Meanwhile, the story that had appeared in the Daily Prophet the next morning had been passed through the Rita filter and become wildly distorted. According to Skeeter, the argument had begun over Malfoy's supposedly cheating on Amexia, and escalated to physical blows. After a well placed kick between the legs reduced Malfoy to a quivering heap, he'd hurled the final insult: he claimed that he'd never liked her anyway, and had only dated her out of pity. This had reduced Amexia to such rage that she had blown out every glass window in the entire mall with a burst of Wild Magic. At which point, Malfoy (so Rita reported) may or may not have lost bladder control.

Hermione wasn't inclined to trust Parvati much more than she trusted Trelawney, but she did have personal experience with Rita Skeeter articles and it was guaranteed that whatever had happened, it wasn't at all like how Rita had described it. She would have to ask Rita sometime how the Malfoys had come to fall out of favour with her. Twenty years ago, her articles had always seemed to show them in a positive light.

"Oh dear, yes, I remember that," said Trelawney ruefully. "It was all over the news. Quite embarrassing don't you think?"

Malfoy snarled. "Look, can we _please_ come to the point? I did have a reason for calling, you know."

"Ah yes," said Trelawney, flustered.

"What in the _world_ were you thinking when you assigned that Weasley Mudblood to my case?" he demanded.

"I can explain," blithered Trelawney. "Truly I can. It's for the best, you'll see."

"This would have to be one hell of an explanation," said Malfoy.

"First of all, she's my best Know-it-all," Trelawney began.

"Not the best for me!" he growled. "She's a Mudblood, her husband writes me threatening letters, her father-in-law and his goons have been harassing me relentlessly, and her litter of bloody weasel-whelps have put my son in the hospital! Again!"

"And how _is _your son doing?" asked Trelawney, most likely in in an attempt to re-derail the conversation.

Malfoy glared coldly at her and downed yet another shot. There had been either one or two in between there, and Hermione had lost track. Was this #7 or #8?

"He'll live. He might hate his life, but he'll live," he said. His tone of voice absolutely forbade further questions along that line.

"Er well," said Trelawney, taking the hint. "That is good. But back to the other . surely you don't balk at having a Muggle-born employee? There must be zillions of them at Batwing already. Why, I've heard you even have _Muggles_ working some of the greenhouses and breeding facilities."

Malfoy sneered. "Yes, but this is different. She and I would have to work one-on-one, and -"

"And so it is a good thing that Hermione is so professional and open-minded, isn't it?" asked Trelawney, a bit sharply.

Malfoy's mouth was still open but there was a pause as the end of his sentence failed to materialize.

"I mean," persisted Trelawney, "it isn't as if you haven't done your best to make yourself an enemy of her kind, and of her family specifically. But even so, Hermione will still do her best for you, and that's not something that's easy to find. In fact, in my experience, it's unique."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying she is the only one who was _willing_ to do it?"

Trelawney smiled apologetically. "I did have two weeks to try to convince all of the others before she came back from holiday."

Malfoy said nothing, just stared at her resentfully, his pale eyes slitted. Hermione was stunned. She'd just assumed that Trelawney had a good reason for picking her, and that it had something to do with her being the best Know-it-all Sibyll & Co. had. Was it really true that all of her co-workers had first refusal of the gig? One thing was for sure, Hermione intended to find out.

"However, if you truly cannot work with her, it is always your option to forfeit your down payment and find another consulting firm to work with," continued Trelawney. "Perhaps one of the others ."

"This company is one vice-president short of a full set because of your damned down payment," said Malfoy defensively. "I'm hardly about to let that sacrifice go to waste, particularly after all the trouble it's caused me since. And besides, I've been to the other consultancies. None of the others have any experience with a company this large, and they're all too afraid of Arthur Weasley and his pack of raving lunatics to have anything to do with me."

"I'm beginning to detect a common theme, Draco dear," said Trelawney gently. "It does seem like a lot of people don't want to have anything to do with you, doesn't it?"

Malfoy recoiled, offended. It was true, though; his money, his breeding, and his reputation gave him a lot of clout at a distance, but nobody wanted to deal with him in person. This was plain fact. Malfoy might not like to admit it, but he had to have noticed by now.

"At some point you must face the facts, and accept help from whoever is willing to offer it," said Trelawney. "Hermione Weasley is willing to help you and she's honest enough and fair enough that you won't have to worry about who she's related to or who else she might be working for that's guaranteed in writing in your contract."

"Fat lot of good your contract will do me if she helps send me to Azkaban," said Malfoy darkly, having apparently chosen to ignore the insult about his personality. He tossed back another shot of Ogden's Extra Special.

Hermione was becoming seriously worried about Malfoy's health. She'd witnessed him down several shots in less than an half an hour. How much alcohol could someone of his size handle in that short a time, anyway? She knew that in Muggle terms, ten or twelve shots in an hour could be lethal to a person weighing about 55 kilos. He was probably bigger than that, but unfortunately in her fly form it was hard to make accurate estimates of that kind. Plus she had no idea what kind of tolerance for the stuff he had built up, or even how strong wizarding whiskey was compared to Muggle.

"True, but I wouldn't make a guarantee like that if I thought I couldn't stand by it," said Trelawney. "You do trust me, don't you?" she asked, smiling kindly.

"Yes, but -"

"Your mother used to trust me implicitly. I gave her advice for years and years, both before you were born and up until recently."

Malfoy glowered at her. "Up until she recently went mad and changed her Last Will and Testament to leave _my_ Manor to -"

"Oh, dear, well that was unfortunate. But there will be plenty of opportunity for her to change her mind before she d-"

"Don't say it," Malfoy hissed. "Don't even think it."

Trelawney sighed. "My point is, you do trust me, and you desperately need my help. All we need to get over is your fear of Hermione Weasley."

Malfoy bristled, but Trelawney wasn't going to let him take charge of the conversation again.

"You've done a pretty good job of keeping your reason for doing this a secret," she continued, "but whatever that reason it is, it has to be a pretty compelling one. I've known you all your life, Draco, and frankly speaking you aren't the type to work this hard for anything less than a life or death situation. Now I don't know if you've gotten yourself entangled in some sort of Death Eater trouble, or if you have secret debts, or a pact with one of the darker Supernatural Powers, but whatever your difficulty is, it seems you have no choice but to make Batwing a working company. Is that right?"

Malfoy managed to send her a death glare while squirming uncomfortably at the same time. He seemed to want to deny it, but what he finally said was, "Maybe."

Trelawney smiled, a touch grimly. "Now, I knew you were desperate when you came to me. I always know these things, that is why people come to me for advice. Even your mother, bless her heart. I know you lent the money for my down payment to Batwing, and that it drained your personal cash reserves, and that it'll take two years for you to get it back from Batwing using money budgeted for that missing Vice President's salary. That's a big gamble, Draco. A very big gamble. What are you going to do when you run out of cash, sell some land?"

Hermione knew that the bulk of Malfoy's wealth lay in real estate, most of it non-income-producing. Much of it had been in the family for hundreds of years. At one time he'd been worth more in business investments, but the anti-trust ruling and the ravages of divorce settlements had put an end to that. Right now, his land-based wealth consisted mainly of the ability to borrow almost any amount he could desire. To threaten that financial leverage would be to threaten the very foundation of the Malfoy family's power. There was no way he'd sell any land. But then, to actually live on borrowed money was a slippery slope. Would there be any way to avoid that if Batwing failed?

"That's none of your business," said Malfoy weakly.

"That's true," said Trelawney. "Just like it's none of my business why you chose to get yourself in this Batwing mess in the first place. But there's one thing that is my business: you need my Know-it-all. And my Know-it-all just happens to be Hermione Weasley. You've already paid for the first two months of Hermione Weasley. Are you going to use her, or are you going to waste your money?"

"I don't feel so good," said Malfoy. He did look unhealthy and queasy, though whether from Trelawney's pointed words or from incipient alcohol poisoning Hermione did not know. One thing she did know: he was in no condition to be making important business decisions. Apparently he had been thinking along the same lines, because he said "I I'll owl you in a few days after I've had a chance to think about it."

Trelawney watched him for a moment, and then her face softened. "I'm sorry, Draco, I don't want to be harsh, but I worry about you. To be honest, I wasn't sure that I should even ask Hermione to do this. But Divination revealed that far from being wrong for the job, she is the _only_ one for the job."

She leaned in really close to the fire, and Malfoy unconsciously leaned closer to his fire too. He seemed almost nervous about what she might say next.

"I did a crystal ball reading," said Trelawney in a low, confidential voice. "And I saw the most terrifying vision! There was a forest, at night, and in a clearing there was a circle of black-robed ."

"Yes yes, get to the important bit," said Malfoy tensely.

"You were there being tortured and killed at wand point."

Malfoy blanched.

"And then - needless to say I was quite concerned - I decided to use a new product I am prototyping, the Predictall FutureVision Glamour Specs. It turned out that this event had something to do with Amexia Brandt."

The look of intense dismay on Malfoy's face was almost comical. "Amexia? In my future? The reason for my _death?"_

"Well," said Trelawney briskly, "I don't know what the connection between Amexia and Batwing is, but that is the vision I got when I looked into the future about Batwing without Hermione Weasley."

Hermione was pretty sure Trelawney had just made the whole thing up, but it sure had put a scare into Malfoy. If that was what it took to get him to agree, well, Hermione didn't like it but she would take what she could get.

Malfoy put his head in his hands. Trelawney smiled sympathetically. "Do owl me when you have had a chance to think about it," she said.

"What's the point?" he said miserably. "If it's between risk of prison or certain death, I don't have any choice."

"You always have a choice," began Trelawney.

"Spare me," snarled Malfoy. He lifted his head from his hands. "Fine, I'll deal with your Mudblood. But if anything happens to me, I swear someone will make sure you regret it."

"Nothing will happen," said Trelawney, with a little sigh. Hermione could tell Malfoy was beginning to get on her nerves big time. But the owner of Sibyll & Co. had not made her business successful by giving up easily, or by being too picky about her clients. "Now, I haven't spoken to her since this morning. I can only hope she hasn't decided to quit or anything."

Malfoy's expression darkened. "I refuse to take responsibility for ."

"Now now, calm down," said Trelawney. "We can't undo the past. I think a nice letter of apology would be just the thing to reassure Hermione that you are serious about working with her."

Malfoy looked dumbfounded. "An _apology?_ From _me?_ To _her?_ In _writing?_ After you've practically _threatened_ me -- "

"Just get your assistant to write it," said Trelawney. "You'll hardly feel a thing. Then, take her - Hermione, that is, not your elf - out to lunch. Somewhere nice, so she knows you're taking this seriously."

"I can't be seen in public with a Mudblood! Are you trying to get me killed?"

"At let's say two o'clock."

Malfoy glanced at his wristwatch. The dial was pointing to "I shan't tell you, you never listen anyway." He hissed and tapped on it sharply with a forefinger, and the dial shifted slightly to point to "Almost race time!" He ripped it off his wrist in annoyance and stuffed it into a drawer of the desk.

"Preposterous," he snarled. "I won't have any part of it."

"Splendid," said Trelawney enthusiastically, taking that for an agreement. "Well that's that then, and be sure to let me know again in a couple of days how things are going. Good luck!"

Her face vanished from the fireplace.

Malfoy snatched the nearest object on his desk - some sort of appointment book - and hurled it into the fire in a fit of fury. Then he turned back to his desk and buried his face in his arms.

Poopsie tiptoed out of nowhere - Hermione had been so riveted by the floo conversation she hadn't even seen her come in - and plucked the book out of the fire, snuffing out the burning portions.

"Master needs his calendar," she said. "Otherwise Master be late to many important meetings." Poopsie placed the calendar on the desk again, then smiled sadly at Malfoy's unresponsive back. She picked up the Ogden's bottle and the glass and put them back in the cupboard, then came back and touched him on the shoulder. "Master??"

"What," he mumbled into his arms. "Leave me alone, I'm having a terrible day."

"Doesn't Master want Poopsie to write a letter to Miz Weasley?"

"Yeah, do that," he said. "Then get lost."

"Master! You has to say what the letter says. Poopsie writes down anything Master wants."

Malfoy groaned and stretched out an arm, knocking several items off the front side of the desk. He left his head lying on that arm while he used his other hand to rub his face. "What did I do to deserve this?" he asked rhetorically. "Fine, I'll dictate, now hurry up so we can get it over with."

While Malfoy muttered something like "I can't believe I'm doing this," Poopsie bounced happily into one of the seats across the desk from Malfoy, and produced a scroll and quill. She waited expectantly. There was a long, long pause.

"Weasley," he said heavily. Poopsie obediently copied down the greeting, such as it was. Then there was another long silence, while Malfoy stared blankly at some parchments his head was half resting on. Finally he said, "It appears that I owe you an apology."

Hermione was so excited that she lost her grip on the ceiling and fell to the desk with a smack landing on the parchments right in front of Malfoy's nose. He straightened up and stared down at her in disgust while she lay stunned. From her angle he looked rumpled and unwell.

"Honestly, this place is revolting!" he exclaimed in annoyance. "I have never seen more vermin in one building in my entire life." He reached toward her.

Hermione recovered her wits and launched herself upward to avoid being squashed, but to her shock Malfoy simply darted his hand up and plucked her out of the air like a tiny Snitch. The Gryffindors had derided his abilities back at Hogwarts, but there was no doubt about it - the guy was wired like a Seeker. Hermione wondered what his reflexes were like when he was sober.

He frowned at Hermione and began to prod at her with his thumb and forefinger, tugging none too gently on her limbs and poking at her tiny head. _Oh my god, _she thought frantically, _he's going to pull out my wings or practice Crucio on me or...._

"Master do yous want more to yous letter, or is you finished?" asked Poopsie.

"No no, there's more. Where was I?" Malfoy sighed.

"It appears I owe you an apology," Poopsie read back helpfully.

"Oh yes," said Malfoy rather sourly. There was a long pause. Then: "I have spoken to Sibyll Trelawney," he continued to dictate, "and she insists that, contrary to all common sense and the laws of nature, you are the best Know-it-all for the job and that there can be no other."

He rummaged through a bunch of jars amongst the clutter on his desk, squinting at the labels. He picked out a jar of dead flies, examined the contents, and then compared Hermione to the desiccated specimens at arm's length. Hermione realized to her horror that they were a Batwing product sample. She imagined being trapped in that jar with all those dead bodies .

"As I have neither the inclination nor the time to verify her sources, I am forced to take her word for it. Therefore, I am requesting your presence here at 2 P.M. today when I will treat you to lunch and we can discuss how to proceed further."

He replaced the jar on the desk and, almost as an afterthought, tossed Hermione aside. She bounced along the floor and came to rest under the windows, temporarily unable to do more than re-live her near-death experience. Several times, in Technicolor.

"Sign it the usual way," drawled Malfoy in a bored voice. "Send it immediately via regular courier, and please don't misspell anything this time. I had a very difficult time explaining to the Minister why I had written him about the inconvenience of not being able to use my own _hand_ for a week."

Poopsie blushed a lurid shade of tennis-ball green. "Poopsie not make that mistake again," she vowed. "Poopsie be very careful."

He hunted through his pockets and found the tiny Swiss Army Knife wand. Then he lurched to his feet ungracefully and nearly fell over. "Damn that Nesbitt," he muttered as he caught himself against the book shelves. Hermione realized it had been long enough that he must be stiffening up from his abuse at the hands of the two Aurors. Not to mention running up the four flights of stairs afterward. That had to be cruel and unusual punishment for anyone who Apparated as much as Malfoy did. All the alcohol he had drunk probably wasn't doing his coordination and balance any good either. He pushed himself away from the wall and stepped forward around his desk. "I'll be back by two o'clock," he said.

Poopsie looked up from her letter, then dropped everything and jumped up in alarm. "You is not Apparatings with that itsy bitsy wand Master!" she exclaimed. She jumped forward and seized his left arm, pulled it down so she could grab the wand from him.

"Ow!" he howled, giving way so suddenly Poopsie fell over backward, the wand clutched in her fist. "That hurt, you little shit! Give it back."

"No Master, you should not be Apparating when you's been drinking too much and you is not feeling well."

"I was feeling much better before you tried to rip my arm off," he said in an aggrieved tone.

"Poopsie just wanted to make sure Poopsie got the wand before you did it," said the house-elf contritely. "Poopsie is sorry if Poopsie was too rough."

"The next time someone grabs my arm and tries to yank it off," said Malfoy, "I swear I will rip the damned thing off myself and owl it to He-who-must-not-be-named in a box. And good riddance!"

He stormed out in a huff, leaving a somewhat bewildered Poopsie in his wake.

"Poopsie just not want Master to get splinched," she said sadly. Then she shook herself and whisked out after Malfoy. Hermione realized she was being left behind, and buzzed upward in pursuit. For all it had seemed rough treatment at the time, she didn't seem to have taken any actual damage during her brief moments of terror.

"Oh God," said Malfoy, when he realized the house-elf had caught up with him.

"Poopsie just wanted to ask where yous goings?" she asked innocently, bouncing alongside him.

"Home."

"But how is you getting there?"

"I'll take the damned Knight Bus if I have to."

"Poopsie will come with you and hail it for yous, Master!" She waved the tiny wand.

Malfoy's eyes bugged. "Put that away, you imbecile! Don't you know how much trouble I can get into for letting you get your hands on a wand?"

"See, yous _do_ want to be my Master again. You acts like I still is your Poopsie!" said Poopsie joyfully.

"Don't even go there," said Malfoy, desperately trying to pull away from her in the hallway.

Poopsie sped up to match his pace, her energy level easily ten times his. "Today at the library Poopsie has found out many interesting things about elves and families," she began.

Malfoy stopped in his tracks and rounded on her so suddenly she nearly crashed into him.

"That's _enough,"_ he snapped, his voice coming out with the unmistakable whiplash of command.

Poopsie's eyes widened and her ears and shoulders cringed downward.

"Master Draco you sound just like Master Lucius just then."

Malfoy took a deep breath, as if consciously reining in his temper. "If you push me too far, you leave me no choice but to be firm," he said. "Now go back and finish those reports I gave you yesterday. I'll be back by two o'clock. And no arguing."

"Yes, Master," mumbled Poopsie, looking at her feet. She vanished with a barely audible _thup_ noise.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair. "Damned elf," he muttered to himself. "Jumped up pantry rat." He turned and continued rather unsteadily down the hallway and into a stairwell, still muttering to himself.

Not wanting to attract his intimate personal attention again, Hermione prudently didn't follow him very closely but instead flew on ahead and landed in a discreet location to wait, moving down a floor each time he drew near. She thought he was a lot drunker than he'd been a few minutes ago, but she didn't want to take any chances. Tormenting flies was probably something they taught little kids in Slytherin while showing them their common room and how to find the Great Hall. He could probably do it in his sleep.

In the lobby on the first floor, the receptionist was gossiping with another witch. They both turned in surprise and dismay when they realized Malfoy of all people had just walked in. He was looking pretty green by now. He weaved over to them, sized them up disdainfully, and then pointed at the receptionist.

"You give me your wand."

"What!"

He gestured impatiently with his outstretched hand. "Give it here, or it's your job." He used his other hand to steady himself against the receptionist's desk.

"Um um take mine, sir," stammered the other witch. She fumbled for and produced a slender oaken wand, offered it to him.

Malfoy studied her more thoroughly, then took the wand without comment.

He turned and sneered at the receptionist. _"You_ had better watch yourself," he hissed. And with a flick of the other woman's wand, he was gone.

"Omigod," said the witch who had given up her wand. "I can't believe he took my wand."

"I can't believe you were dumb enough to _hand_ it to him!"

"Are you joking? Have you heard what he did to Maxwell Bannock in Sales? Besides, I don't want to lose my job. I have a daughter away at boarding school now."

"And how are you going to afford her tuition if you have to buy a new wand?"

"He'll give it back, won't he?"

"Don't bloody count on it."

"Omigod!" said the woman again, this time with feeling.

As Hermione found a crack between the front doors through which to fly away, she reflected that she had a very long, hard assignment ahead of her.

* * *

Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please leave feedback!


	10. Arthur's Owls

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

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**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

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Chapter 10: Arthur's Owls

* * *

_Dear Dad,_

_You know how Hermione is. She wouldn't break client confidentiality if her life depended on it. Although, maybe if you had some proof of what kinds of crimes he's committed well I suppose if you had that, you wouldn't need her to spy for you would you? Yes, we're very proud of Chris. I don't know how he can do it... he has his mother's grades and my Quidditch skills, and never gets in trouble for anything. Even the little ones get more notes sent home than he does. _

_--Ron_

* * *

_Arthur,_

_This is it. We're so close I can smell it. You've got to get that daughter-in-law of yours to spill. Nesbitt and his men have been stopping that Malfoy scumbag every couple of days for weeks and coming up dry every time. I haven't seen a crook so vile keep coming up smelling so sweet since his father was at large. I'd really rather not wait for You-Know-Who to do our dirty work for us this time, know what I mean? The sooner we can put Malfoy behind bars, the better off everyone will be._

_-- A. Moody_

* * *

_Dear Mr. Weasley,_

_We are pleased to announce a new service to our members: sidewalk cleaning! Each day at 9AM and 5PM the groundskeepers will clean and decontaminate our community's sidewalks using the latest potions and charms. It is advised that small pets be kept indoors during those times. This is just one more fabulous service to come out of the dues raise at the last meeting. We appreciate our residents, and we hope you have been enjoying our beautiful grounds and other amenities._

_Lawna Prune  
Hogsmeade Condominiums Association_

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_Dear Grandpa Weasley,_

_I know it's a long ways off, but are you going to come over to our house for Christmas again this year? I miss you! Plus if you come, daddy will come for sure. Thanks for you and Grandma sending me lots of letters. I love getting mail! Thank you also for the cute stickers you sent last time. I particularly like the sparkly unicorn ones. I have been putting them on all my homework when I turn it in. Professor Jigger almost gave me points off for that though :-( Then he decided not to, because he says my homework has "more valuable content" now than it ever did before. He's so mean!_

_Love,  
NellieBellie_

* * *

_Dear Arthur,_

_Romania is beautiful and Charlie, Anne, and the kids are doing wonderfully. I wish you could have come, you should see how large they are! Charlie took me down to see the dragons today. Brrr a little too scary for my tastes! But I'm glad he's happy. We're going for a flying carpet ride today at the Old Eastern Rug Works. I'm still planning on returning tomorrow, so I'll see you soon! Oh, and you should know I have picked up small presents for everybody. I don't want to spoil the surprise, but I'll give you a hint about yours it's from a little Muggle shop specializing in ancient artefacts. I think you'll really enjoy it!_

_Love, Your Molly_

_P.S. I agree, I am worried about Hermione too. I hope she isn't getting into anything she can't handle. It's a shame Ron can't spare more time for her. I am certain she wouldn't have done something so reckless if he'd given her the attention she deserves. Do you think you should have a talk with him about that?_

* * *

_Dear Dad,_

_Wow, I haven't had an owl from you in ages. I would like to think you sent it out of fatherly love, but somehow I doubt it. It's because of the whole Hermione and Malfoy thing isn't it? Well, I honestly don't know anything about that. Nesbitt hasn't said a word. I doubt I'll ever have a chance to see anything for myself, as Mr. Duncan would rather saw off his own tongue with an emery board than send Pansy and me on a Malfoy harassment run. And no, Pansy doesn't know anything either. She's pretty upset about Salazar being in the hospital though. Do you know he's going to be missing the entire rest of the school year? She tried to go see him but was turned back for not being a relative. The nerve! She's his mum for cripes sake! In answer to your other questions (just in case you really wanted to know and weren't just asking because you wanted me to talk about Malfoy), we are both doing really well. Pansy got a commendation for exceptional cunning in a tight situation during that unicorn urine bust we carried out last month, and everybody seems to think I am next in line for a promotion this winter. Cross fingers!_

_--Virginia_

* * *

_Mr. Weasley,_

_I am starting to have some serious doubts about Operation Crash Landing. In the last two months we have now carried out 43 personal searches of Draco Malfoy on the grounds of breaking his parole for flight violations, and we haven't come up with a single shred of evidence. Plus, he is getting very good at avoiding setting off the restraining charm. The sensitivity is now turned up so high it will go off if he even thinks about flying, and it still took three days this last time. Turns out he wasn't _thinking_ about it, he was _dreaming_ about it. You know, he might actually have a case if he tries to contest that one. Anyway, while a study of electroshock treatment to train a person out of liking flying might be of interest to the academic types, I don't think it's going to serve our purposes much longer. We need something more. Preferably something that will catch him when he _does_ have evidence on him._

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

* * *

_Mr. Weasley,_

_Can't you speak to Mr. Duncan about lifting some of the restrictions on my operations? That Malfoy is laughing at us! He murders Muggles and Muggle-borns at night, pours money into other Death Eaters' pockets during the day, and sits up there in Supernatural Relations grinning his ass off as he requests and reads our internal documents. If you could get Malfoy's status upgraded to allow the use of lethal force and/or indefinite detainment, I am certain I could get him to squeal everything. What's the use of all this tiptoeing around? Granted the harassment has been wearing him down, but how many innocents are dying while we wait for him to make a mistake?_

_Rudeo Nesbitt  
Special Ops_

* * *

_Dear Dad,_

_I have to tell you about something really funny that happened today. We got a letter from little Lucia Malfoy you know, Draco Malfoy's twelve year old? She said that due to our family's treatment of her brother and father, she was boycotting Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and buying all of her pranks at Zonko's from now on. It's all written out formally -- her father must have showed her how. Ha ha, little anti-Muggle lobbyist in the making! It would be cute if it wasn't so sad. Malfoy is a jerk. I do miss him bringing the entire Slytherin Quidditch team by after games though. Those boys sure bought up a lot of pranks. How're mum and everybody? Are Ron and Hermione planning on having another barbecue soon? George and I were just talking about wanting to see the Burrow again. _

_Love,  
Fred_

_P.S. Um... just so that you know, Weasley's currently owes 35,345 galleons to Batwing, 10,912 of which is over 90 days past due. I don't think we could switch to another supplier and remain in business; Batwing's prices are already half what anyone else's are. Is there any way you could, uh, avoid truly pissing Malfoy off? I don't think it'd take him long to find out about this if he was seriously digging for dirt on the family. We can be all paid up again by Christmas now that seasonal orders are rolling in, but if he decided to collect in the meantime, it'd be a disaster._

* * *

_Dear Arthur,_

_My, it's been years hasn't it? You might remember me from school I was the one you and your friends always used to call 'Bologna'. You know, 'Trelawney bologna fee-fie so-phoney'? Fortunately I can now look back on those times and laugh. Ha. Ha. Those were the days weren't they? Anyway, I am writing you because I'm concerned about the politics surrounding your daughter-in-law Hermione's current assignment. I am certain you know she is working for me, and with Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical's Draco Malfoy. I hope you realize she is not at liberty to discuss his personal business with anybody outside of our firm. I understand that you might find it helpful if she did, but really. There must be some separation between business and government, and I insist that all of my employees behave with perfect professionalism. Please don't ask Hermione to give you information on our client. If I find out she's been coerced or tricked into doing so, I will regrettably be forced to let her go. And would so hate to lose such a brilliant and charming Know-it-all._

_Most Respectfully and Congenially,  
Sibyll Trelawney  
Enchantress, Diviner, Problem Solver Extraordinaire  
Sibyll & Co. Know-it-All Consultants _

* * *

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	11. Tongue of Lark

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 11: Tongue of Lark

* * *

The restaurant perched atop a rocky, droppings-stained cliff overlooking a gray beach seething with gulls and pelicans. There was an Apparition platform and a broom shed, but the dozens of yachts nuzzled up to the cliffside betrayed what sort of clientele gave the place color. The sign over the door read "Segal's Roost - drop an anchor!".

Hermione would never, ever, in a thousand years have pegged this as the sort of place Draco Malfoy would be caught dead in. It definitely wasn't a high society hangout.

* * *

She had gone home and changed into her human form so that the owl carrying Malfoy's apology would be able to find her. After she'd received the letter (and placed it on the mantel because she was sure Ron would want to frame it or something) she'd spent some time consolidating her mental notes from earlier in the day and adding them to her Batwing project Knowitall Ball.

She'd been preparing to leave for the 2PM appointment when a last-minute owl arrived asking her to please hold off as Malfoy was "indisposed" and was not going to be able to make the date. It estimated Malfoy would be able to meet with her in an hour instead. The letter was on Batwing stationary and signed by a Mrs. Chatworth. There was a postscript explaining that Mrs. Chatworth would owl again when Mr. Malfoy was available.

Hermione remembered Malfoy's frantic consumption of Ogden's Extra Special during his conversation with Trelawney and suspected "indisposed" translated into "unconscious" and "we estimate he will be able to meet with you in an hour" translated into "we are attempting to revive him now".

Three more hours passed. She took a nap, since between Ron's visit and the 7AM appointment she'd had no sleep the night before. Despite her annoyance at the delay and the stupid reason for it, she found herself hoping Malfoy wasn't dead.

Finally as 5PM drew near she received another owl. This one was Malfoy's giant eagle-owl. It carried a Segal's Roost business card and someone had written on the back of the card, "5PM". There was no signature, apology, or further explanation. Hermione sighed and told herself she shouldn't have expected any.

* * *

A bitterly cold wind blew from the north as she lurked in fly form waiting for him to show up. Fortunately as an animagus she was not as susceptible to cold as a true fly would be.

Finally Malfoy made his appearance, in the exact center of the target painted on the platform. He was damp as if freshly showered, and smartly robed in uber-expensive business wear. He carried a different wand. He glanced around the platform and, seeing no one else there, slipped the wand into a pocket and strode purposefully toward the restaurant. He seemed quite sober, and as Hermione buzzed after him she discovered he smelled of wizardmint and Extract of Nightflower, both prominent ingredients of the heavier duty detox potions.

As he reached the door, his eyes flicked about the platform a second time as if he expected Nesbitt and Benkmann to be lurking behind him. After what she'd witnessed earlier in the day, Hermione couldn't really blame him for being paranoid.

Inside, it was all dark paneling and dim orange candle-light. Heavy wood tables filled the main room, and bluer light came from a long row of windows at the end of the restaurant that overlooked the cliff.

The maitre d' came at the sound of a bell on the door, then did a double-take when he saw who it was. "Mister Malfoy!" he exclaimed as he fumbled with a couple of menus. "What an unexpected honor!" He scrambled out of the way as Malfoy stalked past him without so much as a nod, headed for the back of the restaurant where the ocean view was. "Your usual booth, then?" the maitre d' called after him. "Go on, ignore me, you insufferable prick," he muttered when there was no reaction. "If it was up to me, you wouldn't even be allowed in the door."

This was definitely not the maitre d's first encounter with Malfoy; Hermione recognized the symptoms.

The maitre d' made his way back to the doors of the kitchen, where he snared a Hogwarts-aged boy who was on his way out with a tray of clean glasses. "Get Jones here!" he said in a low, urgent voice. "Malfoy's early. Something's going down."

The boy's eyes widened. "Do you think it's _the Weasley meeting?"_

"How should I know? But he wasn't supposed to be here until tonight after the _Lucius_ completes the Frogwichshire-to-London race."

The boy grabbed his wand and hurried out the front door. Hermione followed him curiously, but wasn't able to land on his shoulder before he'd Disapparated. Then she had to wait for a chance to get back inside the restaurant because the door was too well weather-stripped to allow her in around the edges. Hermione circled around getting more and more chilled as nobody went in or out for several minutes. She felt kind of guilty about making Malfoy wait for her, but then again _he'd_ made _her _wait practically all day. Five or ten minutes wouldn't kill him.

* * *

As luck would have it, the next person to arrive was in fact the young boy back again, and with him a tall, dark-haired man who was just finishing tucking in the shirt of a waiter's uniform. To her surprise Hermione recognized the man. His name wasn't really Jones, and he wasn't really a waiter. He was an undercover Auror of some experience. Like most of the covert operators he was not very well known outside of Auroring circles. Hermione had met him at one of Arthur's dinner parties.

The pair hurried inside and Hermione followed. They were met by the anxious maitre d' who pulled them over to a side nook where they were sheltered from sight of the rest of the restaurant.

"Fill me in," said Jones as he pulled on a waiter's vest to complete his disguise.

"You told us to let you know if anything unusual happened. Well, we expected Malfoy tonight since he usually comes here to meet his crew after races. But he's here at least four hours early. We thought it might be for the Weasley meeting."

Jones nodded. "That was supposed to go down at Batwing today at 3PM. We had his office there staked out, but neither of them ever showed up. So you may be right. You did the right thing in telling us."

As Jones started to turn toward the kitchen, the maitre d' grabbed his arm. "There better not be any trouble. That touchy son of a bitch has only been coming here three months and we've already used up our next three _years_ of allotted emergency calls because him. The disturbance fines are killing us. And with a Weasley ."

"Let me handle Malfoy," said Jones.

* * *

Jones placed his bag in the kitchen and, fully looking the part of a waiter, went out into the main restaurant with Hermione zipping after him. They found their quarry in a corner booth next to the windows.

Malfoy had leaned back in the booth with an arm over the back, his other hand toying with the stem of the empty wine glass on his place setting. His posture looked lazy, but his pale eyes belied that, roving tensely over the interior of the restaurant and the beach below it, staring at each spot for only a moment before flicking compulsively to the next. He seemed to be avoiding looking at the yachts, though. Hermione realized that must be because of the hair-trigger restraining charm. Nesbitt had implied that even _thinking_ about flying could set it off - and had.

When Jones appeared at his elbow, Malfoy knocked over the wine glass and his hand dove into his wand pocket.

"Calm down," Jones smiled. "No one's going to get you."

To Hermione's surprise Malfoy looked relieved when he saw it was Jones. He relaxed at once, unpressing himself from the booth corner and withdrawing his hand from his pocket empty.

"I can never be too sure these days," he said with a slightly embarrassed smile. Hermione was fascinated by the dramatic change in his look and manner. When he was smiling, Malfoy seemed pleasant and harmless. One thing was for sure, Jones was a better friend to Malfoy than anyone else Hermione had seen him interact with yet -- with the possible exception of Vincent Crabbe.

Jones looked around as if checking for watchers, then tucked his notepad and pen into his pouch and slid into the seat opposite Malfoy's. "So how's it been going?" he asked. "There've been all sorts of rumors."

Malfoy smirked. "I'm sure there have."

"Heard you were hooked up with Amexia Brandt again."

Malfoy's smirk vanished and he stared at Jones in obvious astonishment. "Amexia Brandt? Have you lost your mind?"

"I _thought_ that didn't sound right," Jones laughed.

"I think you just made that up to see how I'd react," Malfoy complained.

"No really, I heard it from a friend of mine. Obviously he was mistaken."

"Very much so," said Malfoy firmly.

"Hmm, well, I know you wouldn't be caught dead in public by your lonesome, so who are you meeting? Someone else special in your life? A new girlfriend perhaps?"

"No girlfriend," said Malfoy sourly. "Just business."

"You're not bringing _Hermione Weasley_ here are you?" said Jones with great interest.

Malfoy leaned back into the corner and regarded Jones with annoyance. "And just how would you know about that?"

"It's all over the Daily Prophet. Haven't you seen?"

"This afternoon's? Already?"

"Oh yeah, check it out." Jones took out his wand and said, _"Accio_ newspaper!" A folded Daily Prophet shot out of the kitchen through the swinging doors and to Jones' hand. He opened the paper and riffled through it, then folded it back to a small Page 12 article down near the bottom. Hermione took a risk and landed on the wall directly over Malfoy's head so she could read the article too.

_HAS MALFOY FINALLY LOST IT?  
By Agnes Casteroyle  
It has come to our attention that Draco Malfoy -- son of notorious Death Eater, former Ministry official and Azkaban inmate Lucius Malfoy -- has hired Hermione Weasley as a consultant in connection with his failing manufacturing firm, Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical. Yes, you read correctly. Weasley is not only the daughter-in-law of Arthur Weasley, the man who has been coordinating all the raids on Malfoy Manor recently, but her daughters Freida and Georgia are responsible for the accident at Hogwarts that put Draco's son Salazar in St. Mungo's. What we'd like to know is, does Malfoy actually have a good reason for doing this, or have all those generations of inbreeding finally proven his family's downfall?_

Malfoy looked indignant. "What does she mean by that, 'have all those generations of inbreeding finally proven his family's downfall'?"

Jones cleared his throat. "Well, some believe that excessive intermarriage between cousins and siblings, so as to drastically reduce um, diversity in the family line, can result in degeneration, weakness, and possibly even fatal flaws."

Malfoy looked momentarily puzzled, and then contempt dawned on his face. "Ah. Muggle _science,"_ he drawled dismissively. "Rubbish, of course." He folded the newspaper and handed it back to Jones.

"Do you really think so?" asked Jones curiously.

_"My_ breeding is unparalleled, as everyone knows," said Malfoy proudly. "If those who are clearly beneath me wish to invent insults based on fantasy and Muggle D&A's then let them; I shan't let it bother me. It is nothing but jealousy." He appeared to be perfectly serious. Hermione was amazed by his complete disregard for the facts.

Jones hid a grin. "Errrrm, well," he half-laughed, half-coughed. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, can I bring you your usual?"

"No, no, don't bother," said Malfoy, waving the offer away. "Some rather _overenthusiastic_ well-wishers force-fed me two entire vials of Yerg's Natural not a half-hour ago."

Like most detox potions, Yerg's Natural Detoxifying Elixir was too addictive to use regularly, but for special occasions it packed quite a wallop. Malfoy would probably be stone cold sober for at least 24 hours no matter what else he drank. Two vials' worth was almost certainly overkill, but maybe the "well-wishers" had panicked after being unable to wake Malfoy. He sounded disgusted with the behavior of his unnamed benefactors, but after hearing his opinions on "Muggle D&A's" Hermione was more prepared to trust their judgment than his.

Jones chuckled sympathetically. "Can I get you something else, then?" he asked.

"Tea will be fine until she arrives," said Malfoy.

"Very well," said Jones. There was a pause, and then he winked. "She? It _is_ Hermione Weasley, isn't it?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Yes, it's her. Are you satisfied?"

"You know this place is going to be just crawling with tan-robe Aurors because of that, don't you?" said Jones. Hermione couldn't help but marvel at Jones' undercover abilities. Malfoy had to be thoroughly fooled indeed if Jones could actually _talk_ about Aurors without raising his suspicions.

"I know," Malfoy said stiffly. And then, after a long pause, a grudging: "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry for Mr. Segal, he thinks they're wonderful business. He thinks _you're_ wonderful business."

"The more fool he," Malfoy muttered, but Hermione could tell he was pleased by the compliment. Very pleased by it.

It was clear that Jones had been stalking Malfoy for a long time now, long enough that Malfoy had been completely taken in by his waiter's guise and had even warmed up to him as a person, _trusted_ him. Hermione was fascinated. How long had that taken? Months? Years? One thing was for sure, it proved Malfoy spent far more time at this restaurant than she would have expected. It also probably meant Malfoy had known him a lot longer than the three months he'd been coming here.

* * *

Within seconds of Jones' disappearance into the kitchen, and probably not at all by coincidence, a group of four wizards wearing nondescript beige robes and shiny black boots had entered at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. They were supposed to be inconspicuous, but the truth was the youngest wizarding child could spot a cluster of tan-robe Aurors in a crowd. Their all-too-obvious presence was considered an excellent deterrent when it came to things like assassinations. Hermione had been wondering when Arthur would get around to butting his nose into her business, and what form his interference would take. It looked like this was it. She couldn't decide whether to be flattered or exasperated. It's not like she was the Minister of Magic or a foreign dignitary or anything.

Malfoy probably couldn't tell they were there from where he was sitting, but his nervousness had returned with Jones gone. He fidgeted about a bit and looked at his watch, which read _"Hours_ late." Twice, he removed his hand carefully from his wand pocket and placed it on the table. It seemed to want to creep back in there for comfort.

Finally he noticed the first set of tan-robes, who were being seated by the very pleased-looking maitre d'. He stopped squirming about and sat perfectly still, staring at them as if transfixed. By now, Hermione with her greater mobility had discovered no less than _six_ additional tan-robe Aurors waiting at the front podium. Four she could understand. It was going a bit overboard, but it sent a message that couldn't be ignored. But _ten?_ Ten was nothing short of insane. Arthur must be really, really worried about her safety. Then again he was obsessed with the idea that Malfoy was Voldemort's chief lieutenant. It figured that his obsession would manifest itself in protectiveness in this case. _I'm going to have to have a talk with him,_ she decided. She hadn't wanted to, because she knew he'd pressure her for information. But this was ridiculous.

Jones hurried past and handed Malfoy his tea, then bustled on to the Aurors' table, pretending to be a regular busy waiter. Hermione didn't catch what Jones had said to Malfoy, but she did notice that Malfoy drank his tea without even bothering to test it first. The level of trust Jones had managed to instill in Malfoy was truly awe-inspiring. Or maybe Malfoy was just distracted. He, too, had now seen the second set of Aurors, as they were led back by the maitre d'.

As Hermione buzzed back to the front, she found to her shock that there were a whole new _line_ of Aurors waiting to be seated now. Shock quickly became outrage and confusion. What on earth was going on here? Were these really all for her? Jones' conversation with Malfoy seemed to suggest it. And she really could see Arthur sending at least a couple. But at this rate, she was never going to be able to get a seat, much less get Malfoy to talk to her.

She waited for her chance, then flew out the opening door and up and away. When she was sure she was far enough away that no one could see, she transformed back into her human self complete with briefcase and broomstick.

"This is crazy," she said to herself. And then she turned and arrowed back toward the restaurant.

* * *

By the time she'd been processed through the line and shown to Malfoy's table, the place was packed with Aurors. They filled every available table and their false chatter filled the air.

Malfoy stood as she approached. His expression was grim and his body language apprehensive.

"Mrs. Weasley," he said formally, offering his hand.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, completing the handshake. His hand was surprisingly delicate in her grasp, long and fine-boned and as smooth-skinned as Trelawney had said it was. He withdrew too-quickly when they were done, as if her touch was contaminated.

"I'm sorry about earlier," said Hermione, as they took their seats. "I had no idea Trelawney hadn't warned you in advance."

"She's like that," he said shortly, beckoning to Jones.

Hermione felt guilty relief as they were saved from further discussion by Jones' arrival.

"Ah, you must be Mrs. Weasley!" exclaimed Jones. "Such a pleasure to have you with us tonight. Can I bring you anything to drink?"

Jones' acting was excellent. He looked as if he had never met Hermione in his life, as if she was just another customer. Hermione was glad her own recognition of him had come when she was in fly form so nobody could see. Even so, knowing he was an Auror and that Malfoy was oblivious to this was very distracting. As was the presence of the crowd of a different department's Aurors all around them.

After he'd taken her order, Jones winked. "Rest assured you will be in good hands here at Segal's, Mrs. Weasley."

_As if I could have possibly failed to notice,_ thought Hermione.

* * *

After Jones had gone, leaving a pair of menus behind, Hermione and Malfoy spent some time squirming in their seats and pretending to examine the menus so as to avoid each others' eyes. Hermione felt ridiculous in doing so, knowing how she had despised Trelawney for doing the same thing when she'd made the Knowitall Ball. It was even sillier considering how many hours Hermione had spent today watching him in her fly form. Even so, it was incredibly difficult to make herself look his way.

Finally she forced herself to stare at Malfoy directly. He was pressed back into the corner again, looking profoundly unhappy and no little amount uneasy. The fingers of one hand massaged his temple and his other hand fidgeted nervously with the handle of his tea cup. His pale eyes seemed focused on some point near the center of the table.

She wondered how she was supposed to get a sensible business discussion out of Malfoy when he was surrounded by his enemies. From what she'd observed he'd been wound tight enough to snap even before the Aurors had started to arrive. All she could do was try to loosen him up with some small talk. Maybe he would relax a little then.

"Er.... so how is Salazar doing?" Hermione asked delicately. She noticed a distinct hush around the restaurant as she spoke. Their conversation was being monitored.

Malfoy met her eyes quickly, startled. He clearly hadn't expected her to inquire. It took him a moment to formulate a response. "They tell me he will be out of the hospital by the middle of next term at the earliest. As it is, he will probably have to redo the fifth year."

Hermione was horrified. "It's _that_ bad?" In the mind of Hermione Weasley, having to re-do a year of school was about the worst thing that could happen to a kid short of outright death.

"I would rather not talk about it, under the circumstances," he said stiffly.

Hermione blushed. "I truly apologize for my children's behavior. It was totally unacceptable."

"Yes, well," he said with a little more acid in his tone. "Not exactly out of character though, was it?"

Hermione winced. Unfortunately it was true. While Malfoy's kids were famous for being intensely annoying spoilt prejudiced gits, they were better known for shooting off their mouths and provoking harm to themselves than for succeeding in causing actual harm to others. Her own kids, on the other hand, specialized in throwing the first punch in fistfights, pulling off gruesome over-the-top pranks, and teaching annoying spoilt prejudiced gits a lasting lesson. All while maintaining that cheerful Gryffindor good-kidness that made teachers and other authority figures want to let them get away with murder.

"Perhaps we'd better get to business," she muttered, blushing.

"Indeed," he said coldly, looking out at the horizon.

* * *

She opened her briefcase and rearranged the papers a bit, trying to decide if he'd been telling the truth or if he was exaggerating to gain sympathy. She certainly felt guilty about it either way. She wasn't going to be able to sleep until she found out if his son was really going to be missing a year of school or not.

A long silence passed. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Aurors shifting about and tapping on various pieces of surveillance equipment "secreted" in their pockets, trying to figure out if Hermione and Draco were communicating at all.

_That would be a resounding no, _thought Hermione with a sigh.

"All right," she said, putting a thick sheaf of papers on the table. "I've looked over the materials you and Trelawney provided, and I think Batwing can work, provided you're truly committed to making it happen."

Malfoy's pale eyes fixed on hers without a trace of warmth. His voice was even unfriendlier. "I should think it would be obvious that I would never have agreed to work with _you_ if my commitment were anything less than absolute," he said disdainfully.

"Erm, yes," said Hermione valiantly. "Well, I've prepared this Knowitall Ball with all of my observations and ideas so far." She produced a Bludger-sized crystal ball and placed it on the table between them. "I also put my standard set of accumulated business knowledge on there so if you have any general questions that need answering when I'm not around, you can check there."

Malfoy's gaze flicked down to the ball once, and then he nodded, making no move to pick it up. Hermione suspected that it, unlike Jones' tea, was going to get a thorough testing before he went anywhere near it.

"Now, did Trelawney give you one to fill up too?" Hermione asked. She had been wondering about the Knowitall ball she'd seen taken from Malfoy's yacht earlier in the day. She hoped that hadn't been the one. But:

"Yes, she did," he said. He made as if to reach for an inner pocket, but stopped with a strained expression when nearly the whole restaurant full of Aurors stood at once, hands in their own pockets. _Good god,_ thought Hermione, _this place is a powderkeg. Those Aurors are as jumpy as Malfoy is._

After a moment, Malfoy withdrew his hand slowly, empty. The Aurors sat down again, also slowly. Normal, but low level, conversation resumed around the room. Malfoy looked shaken. Hermione could see a sheen of sweat had sprung up on his brow.

"Was all this really necessary?" he asked, struggling for his usual haughty tone.

"It wasn't my idea," said Hermione. "I didn't even know until after I got here. And it's not really making my life any easier either." She had been thinking they could just ignore the Aurors, but that little demonstration had just proven that wasn't a very good idea. Boy, was she going to give Arthur an earful when she managed to get ahold of him. "I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

The expression on his face made it clear the apology was not accepted.

Jones came past the array of Aurors and stopped at their table again. He was pretending nothing had happened, but through his façade Hermione thought he seemed tense. And well he might be; those tan-robes were interfering with his work as surely as they were Hermione's.

He gave Hermione her drink and refreshed Malfoy's tea, all as if nothing were unusual at all. As if his back wasn't between Malfoy and a bunch of wand-happy tan-robes and as if Malfoy himself wouldn't attack him instantly if he knew his true identity.

"And have you two decided what you'd like to order today?" he asked pleasantly. What an impressive actor.

"I'll have the Butterfly Pasta," said Hermione, hoping Jones would go away quickly this time. The tension was killing her.

"I think I've lost my appetite," muttered Malfoy.

"There's a piece of cold Lark's Tongue pie they've been saving for you in the back," said Jones. "I know it's your favorite."

Malfoy looked almost desperately grateful for the suggestion.

"That will do, then," he said, and Hermione was relieved when Jones took the menus and left.

Hermione cleared her throat. "You're a regular here, then?"

He looked at her suspiciously, as if she might try to use the information against him.

"Not usually during the day," he said after a long pause. "It's popular after races."

Yacht racing as a sport didn't have the popular attention that Quidditch had, mainly because it was difficult to spectate and also difficult to take up as an amateur. The cost of maintaining a yacht in racing form was prohibitive for most. The end result was a person could be on top of the racing world and nobody would know it. It was more an upper-class addiction than a public pastime.

"When I saw your boat, I thought you might be into racing," she said.

"I used to be." He scowled and looked out the window as if he'd rather look anywhere than at Hermione. She could see anger and frustration building in him. She groaned inwardly. Was it impossible to make small talk with Malfoy without probing open wounds? Specifically, recently-Weasley-inflicted wounds? Of course the restraint charm would have made racing impossible for him. That's why he was allowing Vincent Crabbe and the others to race the _Lucius_ without him. Hermione wondered how he could meet with them after races without accidentally setting off the charm. Maybe it was unavoidable.

"Er, ahem," said Hermione awkwardly. She picked up her own tea and took a sip of it. "Where is the sugar?"

"They don't put any out," said Malfoy. He turned back from the window and drew his wand, pointing it at her tea cup. _"Sucr "_

_**"Stupefy!"**_

* * *

Hermione supposed it stood to reason that even an annoying bastard like Malfoy would have been given a certain amount of training in manners by his parents or caretakers. It went hand-in-hand with his breeding. He simply didn't choose to display those manners much, at least in the presence of a Muggle-born person. It was terribly ironic that after being extremely rude to her all day, he would receive instant and decisive punishment for one little, most likely purely reflexive, accident of politeness.

* * *

_**"Stupefy!"**_

Five Aurors chorused from as many different directions. Hermione stared in disbelief as Malfoy's eyes rolled back in his head and he slithered heavily under the table, wand bouncing out of his hand.

She leaped to her feet. "What did you do?" she cried. The Aurors rushed in to surround the table and Malfoy's fallen form, like predators surrounding a kill.

"Best stay back, Mrs. Weasley," said one of the tan-robes, urging Hermione to get out of the booth. "For your safety."

"For my safety?" Hermione shrieked. "I'm trying to conduct a business meeting here!"

They had dragged Malfoy out from under the table and were sticking their wands in her tea. A pair of tan-robes led her farther and farther away, until she was at the other end of the restaurant.

"Wait a minute -"

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I can't let you go back there until we're given the all-clear."

Hermione put her hands on her hips. The pair of Aurors stepped back a bit at the look on her face. "I'm going to send Arthur such a Howler about this," she began.

"Now Mrs. Weasley, no reason to get threatening," said one of them. "Just relax and everything will be right again in just a bit."

"The last thing I needed," said Hermione, "was to get entangled in some kind of a lawsuit where Draco Malfoy tries to lose each and every one of you your jobs."

This time they actually blanched.

"And don't think he won't do it, either," she said. "I've heard he goes for that sort of thing, and this is a clear case of misapplied force and in front of a perfect witness too."

"Now Mrs. Weasley," began the Auror again.

"Don't you Now-Mrs.-Weasley me!" Hermione yelled. "I demand to speak to your supervisor!"

All told, this meeting was not going much better than the first.

* * *

_Notes:_

_"The more fool he": This is paraphrased from Shakespeare. Malfoy probably doesn't know that._

* * *

Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please leave feedback!


	12. Rudy's Owl Rodeo

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 12: Rudy's Owl Rodeo

* * *

_Mr. Nesbitt,_

_Mr. Jackowitz forwarded a complaint the Department of Owls thought we might be interested in. It's from the Daily Prophet's operations center. They claim they have twice sent owls to Draco Malfoy that have returned all bloodied up and nearly dead. They think he set his eagle-owl upon them deliberately. Can you use this at all?_

_Maisie Chic  
Aur Central_

_P.S. Where's my bribe? I thought you were going to buy me flowers once a week if I gave you extra information. Pay up you big hunk you!_

* * *

_Rudeo,_

_I keep hearing these rumors that Malfoy's next charity case will be Amexia Brandt again. Can this possibly be true? If so, is someone dealing with trying to get her on board? We need someone on the inside at Malfoy Manor. Badly. Otherwise Covert Operations is going to steal all the glory._

_-- Nev_

* * *

_Mr. Nesbitt,_

_Sorry to intrude on your time, but Mole #2 has corroborated #1's report that Malfoy knows about the coming raid. Neither of them could say for sure how he learned it, though they both think he was owled at the Ministry with the info. Does Arthur want to cancel, go ahead with it at the planned date anyway, or should we bump it up sooner and try to catch Malfoy by surprise? Let us know ASAP._

_Codename Angel Dust  
Cov Ops_

* * *

_Mr. Nesbitt,_

_Me again. Just wanted to let you know that we received twelve anonymous tips about you manhandling that Malfoy creep at Batwing this morning. He may not be popular over there, but apparently Aurors aren't either -- at least among the assembly personnel. Do try to be less public about it, would you? I'm going mad trying to burn all this mail during moments when Arthur isn't looking._

_Maisie Chic  
Aur Central_

_P.S. You really owe me now!_

* * *

_Mr. Nesbitt,_

_We just received a howler from Draco Malfoy that was so bad all the office ladies were in tears when it was finished. He said you took his wand, his spare, and papers and crystal media he needed for his legitimate work, threw him up against the wall, and ransacked his boat. He also claims you had no valid search warrant, as he hadn't actually violated his parole. Is this true? Daschel seems to think the charm went off while Malfoy was asleep. Even Malfoy might be able to win a lawsuit on that basis if that is the case and he can somehow prove it. And you can be sure he'll try. I think you and I are going to have to have a talk about how you treat the suspects during face to face interactions. How about tomorrow morning at 10AM?_

_ Arthur Weasley  
Director of Auror Affairs_

* * *

_Nesbitt,_

_You're not going to believe this, but Malfoy brought Hermione Weasley to that dive he's been hanging out at over in Stoneyrie. Bancroft and his boys were there in full force and wouldn't you know it, somebody's itchy hex reflex went off and now they have a Wrongful Use of Force situation over there. I'm still trying to get the details but it sounds really messy. Weasley swears up and down he didn't do anything to her, and the Tannies swear up and down they were defending her from an attack. Someone told me on condition of anonymity that a _Prior Incantatum_ on his wand produced about sixty-six beautification charms, ten Apparates, and half of a _sucre deliciae._ Yes, you got it, the coffee sweetening charm. Guess which one he was in the middle of performing when they stunned him. Anyway, get your arse over there and make sure they don't take any important evidence. If he has any dark items on him, we don't want them getting tied up in those incompetents' evidence vault while lawsuits and investigations are flying. And make sure that Weasley is all right. Arthur will have our guts for garters if anything's happened to her._

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_P.S. I have already received an owl from Malfoy's lawyers about this morning. Watch your step over there we don't need to give him any more ammunition._

* * *

_Dear Mr. Nesbitt,_

_The Daily Prophet has been following your work with great interest and we would just love to do an article about you. We believe our readers should know everything about you from your bravery and duelling skill to your willingness to tackle the dirty jobs that nobody else seems to want to do. What do you say? It could be fabulous. Owl me._

_Reeta Skeeter  
Reporter/Writer_

* * *

_Rudy,_

_Where are you? What on earth is going on? I've been bombarded by owls for you, from everybody from Arthur and Daschel to press, media, and people with code names like "Crouching Tigress." I certainly hope that last one is business related. Anyway, I thought you'd like to know._

_--Leela_

_P.S. Can you bring home bread, milk and chocolate frogs when you come? Thanks._

* * *

Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please leave feedback!


	13. Beeswax

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 13: Beeswax

* * *

After the tan-robes were gone, a profusely apologetic Jones cleared the table and brought new tea, including a small pot of sugar with a spoon in it.

Malfoy slumped there unmoving, elbows on table, head in hands. His clothes were badly rumpled up and his pale hair straggled in all directions. Smoke drifted around him from the Pepper-Up potion the Aurors had forced down his throat after they managed to revive him. He hadn't so much as acknowledged Hermione's presence since they'd dumped him there. At first she'd thought he felt too unwell to interact with anyone just yet, but after enough time had passed she realized he was just leaving it up to her to re-initiate their conversation.

She was having a difficult time deciding what to say.

"Look I'm sorry," she said finally, breaking the silence. "Arthur was just trying to protect me. Meddling where he didn't belong. I had no idea it would get so out of hand or I would have owled him and made him send them away as soon as they arrived."

"Don't flatter yourself," he muttered. He removed his hands and pulled himself up straight, and she could see that he was mostly OK, just worn out. "If you had not been on hand, they would have found some other excuse."

He was probably right, but since she wouldn't know that if she hadn't been spying on him, she couldn't really say so. Instead she said, "if you want to stop now and continue this tomorrow, I would understand completely. You should probably get some rest - five Stupefies can't be good for a person."

"There were _five?"_ He looked unsettled for a moment, then his expression became scornful. "I suppose I should be flattered that they think me so dangerous. At any rate, I am perfectly fine. I do need to go clean up a bit, however. I will be back momentarily."

"Of course," said Hermione. She watched him rise to his feet and wend his way between the now-empty tables and disappear into the men's loo. (It was labeled "Buoys"; the women's was labeled "Gulls".) She wished she could spy on him, but there was no way to change into her fly form now without people noticing. Not to mention, it wouldn't look too good if she couldn't switch back in time and he returned to find her missing.

While he was gone, she picked up the Knowitall ball she'd given him and added a copy of the events that had happened while he was knocked out. It was the least she could do.

* * *

When Malfoy returned some fifteen minutes later he appeared greatly improved. His hair and robes were in perfect order, he had a better color to him, and he looked dramatically less tired than before. Hermione wondered if he had cast dozens of tiny glamour charms to fix the details of his appearance or if he'd somehow gotten his hands on an energy potion instead. She rather hoped it wasn't the latter; after everything else his body had been through today the last thing he needed was more junk in his system.

"I took the liberty of adding to the Knowitall while you were away," she said as he sat down. "I thought you might like to see what happened while you were unconscious."

He eyed the Knowitall Ball suspiciously and picked up his tea instead.

"I haven't boobytrapped it or anything," she said. "I didn't do anything to your tea either," she added.

A look of horror flitted across his face and he put the tea down hurriedly, but it was too late since he'd already drunk out of it. That was exactly the kind of mistake Arthur and the others were counting on him to make more and more often as the pressure mounted. She remembered his getting the name of his boat wrong when talking to Vincent Crabbe earlier in the day. The harassment was working. If Malfoy did have something to hide, it was going to be impossible to avoid incriminating himself for much longer.

For the first time, Hermione realized that it was actually possible Malfoy might be arrested and thrown in Azkaban before she could successfully finish her assignment. That wasn't a very encouraging thought.

"You use it first," he said, indicating the Knowitall Ball lying innocently on the table.

"All right," said Hermione. "It's quite safe." She took the ball and held it cupped in her hands, concentrated on a simple question about manufacturing procedures. Her own words began to flow quickly into her mind in answer, and images played forth within the ball itself.

After a few moments she looked up and saw that Malfoy's suspicion had vanished with the demonstration, replaced by eagerness to access the ball's contents himself. She allowed her connection to the ball to fade and then handed it to him. She noticed he was careful not to touch her fingers. She also noticed that the ball looked much better cradled in his long, elegant hands than it had in hers. It was no longer a blank ball of glass - it was a magic orb, alive, mysterious, aglow with hints of reflected inner light. Hermione filed that away in her well-organized brain under "Advertising and Marketing". Hands. Maybe old Trelawney wasn't so crazy after all.

Malfoy closed his eyes and concentrated. He looked like he was making a wish. When he opened his eyes again he looked into the ball, and Hermione could see that he had successfully retrieved the scene with the Aurors. Most people had to work harder than that to get anything out of a near-stranger's ball. She would like to think that he'd had an unusual amount of experience using Knowitall Balls or had a touch of Divination ability, but it was most likely simply because he believed so strongly.

She watched as he viewed the recording she'd made. A corner of his mouth quirked up slightly during the beginning part where Hermione had given the Aurors a piece of her mind. She'd started with the two who were "protecting" her, then worked her way up the chain of command berating and castigating and threatening each one, until they finally agreed to summon their head supervisor Mr. Bancroft to the scene.

However, when he reached the part where she had finally managed to go over and have a closer look at his unconscious body, the hint of a smirk vanished and he turned pale. Hermione didn't blame him; it hadn't been a pretty sight. He'd already been searched by then, his robes mussed and half-undone, his pockets emptied. The search had exposed a pendant attached to a platinum-and-sapphire chain around his neck. The pendant itself was a heavy, flat, snowflake-cut crystal with lines of light crawling slowly through it like half-frozen electricity. The Aurors who'd performed the search were arguing about the pendant. They wanted to take it for evidence, but if it was the Memoralias charm it resembled then it couldn't be legally removed, tampered with or searched unless they had a warrant to search his memories.

Hermione could tell at first glance it was definitely a Memoralias charm, designed to keep a backup copy of the wearer's newly acquired memories. The wearer could then access the stored memories as easily and naturally as if they were his own, which came in handy if the wearer forgot an important detail or was memory-charmed by someone. Memoralias charms were most often used covertly during meetings and other events that weren't supposed to be recorded using regular methods. However, they could also be abused by wearing them constantly for days or even weeks at a time. She could easily see why Malfoy might be tempted to do that: nobody could survive on two- and three-hour naps for months on end without their memory being shot to pieces. And no one could maintain a tightrope walk like Malfoy's if he kept forgetting all the details. Unfortunately, the charm was much less secure than a person's own memories. There were many easy ways to extract the memories using countercharms or curses or even various objects like pensieves. Almost anything would work so long as the wearer was still wearing the charm and not actively fighting the extraction. For example, if he were asleep or unconscious.

Luckily, Mr. Bancroft arrived before the tan-robes could make any further errors in judgment. He, at least, was smart enough to know when to stop digging. He ordered them to cease their search and put all of Malfoy's possessions back. About halfway through that process, who should show up but Nesbitt and Benkmann from Special Ops. Cheerfully ignoring Bancroft's attempts to get rid of him, Nesbitt watched the tan-robes re-stocking Malfoy and offered many helpful if infuriating comments. He seemed to know an awful lot about which pockets Malfoy kept what in, and how to properly re-install his spare in its elaborate quick-release harness.

Then they did the five Finite Incantatums required to remove the five Stupefies, and Malfoy failed to regain consciousness. Nesbitt laughed his arse off and refused to leave even after Bancroft resorted to swearing at him. Bancroft kicked the rest of the tan-robes out which made it all the more obvious that there were a small number of actual customers of Segal's Roost there watching with great interest. After Bancroft cast Ennervate on Malfoy with no visible effect, two or three of the other diners got up and came over to offer genuinely well-meant suggestions in counterpoint to Nesbitt's amused ones. The increasingly frazzled Bancroft tried Ennervate again, still with no luck, and then finally let Nesbitt give it a try. Deriding Bancroft for being "timid", Nesbitt gave Malfoy a third Ennervate right between the eyes, then grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him violently until he was awake.

The Pepper-up potion was the idea of one of the bystanders who had dug it out of her purse. It was administered forcibly and with great difficulty by Bancroft, who appeared anxious to prove he was not "timid".

Finally they left Malfoy to Hermione and Jones, but not before Nesbitt had to prevent Bancroft from trying to Obliviate Malfoy of the entire incident.

"He wears a Memoralias charm, lackwit! You do that, and he'll remember everything anyway, plus there will be a retrievable recording of your trying to Obliviate him that he can use against you in court."

Bancroft could not argue with that, so they parted ways with Malfoy's memory left intact.

* * *

Malfoy put the Knowitall Ball down, frowning. He looked even more tired than before, Pepper-up potion or no.

"That _is_ a Memoralias charm you're wearing, isn't it?" she said.

He glared at her and his hand flew to his throat, maybe to check that the pendant was safely out of sight. "No," he said firmly. "It isn't."

Hermione wanted to argue, but at that moment Jones arrived with their food.

"Butterfly Pasta," said the undercover Auror, placing a large plate in front of Hermione. "And the Lark's Tongue Pie for you Mr. Malfoy. Will there be anything else right away?"

"Not for me, thank you," said Hermione. Malfoy looked like he wanted Jones to stay, perhaps in the interest of indefinitely postponing further interaction with Hermione, but reluctantly shook his head no as well.

After Jones had gone, Malfoy avoided looking at Hermione and instead concentrated on his food. She speared a butterfly with her fork and chewed thoughtfully as she watched Draco devour his meal. Was he always this ravenous or had he been starving himself? Or maybe getting knocked around by Aurors was especially hungry work. She wondered if he'd have such an appetite if he knew Jones was an Auror too. Probably not.

"How long have you been wearing it?" she asked.

The busy silverware stopped and his pale eyes darted warily to hers.

"Wearing what?"

"The Memoralias charm. You know, it wasn't really designed to be worn all the time," she said. "There can be some nasty side effects. It can create a dependency where your own memory gets less and less reliable. Also, if the charm is damaged or removed from your person, the memories will be lost. The longer the charm has been worn, the more problems losing the memories will cause. And it's way too easy to break into - if Bancroft and those fellows from Special Ops hadn't come along when they did, the tan-robes probably would have rummaged through it."

"I am well aware of the limitations of Memoralias charms, Weasley," said Malfoy coldly. "And I suggest you confine your meddling to areas you're being paid for."

Hermione took that to mean that he had been wearing it for far longer than was wise. She sighed to herself. At the current rate of abuse, it was going to be a miracle if his mind and body lasted long enough to see his company succeed.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to pry. It's just that if you are to take Mr. Batten's place you will need your health and faculties intact. It's going to be a terrific battle as it is -- you've never run a manufacturing operation before, and you have no experience in this particular industry, and you're going into it with the entire company against you."

Malfoy scowled but did not try to argue that, instead digging into his food again.

"Why _did_ you decide to do something with Batwing?" she asked curiously. "You must know by now that it's a nearly impossible challenge. As companies go it's in poor shape, and you don't have a lot of cash to inject into it, and the company's employees don't have a lot of faith in you. It's not going to be easy to overcome all of that."

"Why I want to do it is not important," he said without meeting her eyes.

"Actually, it is," said Hermione. "It's important that you made the decision for the right reasons and that you're being realistic about what you want to have happen."

"Maybe I don't want to discuss it," he said.

She tried to meet his eyes but he steadfastly refused to look at her.

"You don't have to go into detail," she said, "just give me a general idea...."

Now he did look up, his eyes narrow and ruthless.

"Because it's what I want. Now drop it."

Hermione was surprised by his venomous response to what she thought was a perfectly reasonable question. "Malfoy, I'm here to help you run your business more effectively. We're not going to get that done until you can be honest to me and yourself about your reasons for doing things, and whether they're justified or perhaps need rethinking." She folded her napkin and patted butterfly scales off her lips. "It's quite possible that you'd be better off selling Batwing at a small loss now, rather than losing even more money on it later."

"No, I think I'd be completely fucked if I sold now," he snarled.

Hermione sighed. "That's not immediately obvious from my point of view. Maybe I could help you better if I understood _why_ you have no choice."

They stared at each other for long moments, Hermione trying to look as pleasant as possible, Malfoy looking positively murderous. Finally, he looked down and shoved his plate away from himself.

"Maybe you could," he muttered. "But you'll learn to work around it if you know what's good for you."

It was clear that Malfoy had drawn a line and was refusing to cross it. If even Trelawney was unable to get that information from him, he must be pretty sincere about keeping his secret. Hermione decided to let the matter lie for now.

"OK," said Hermione, "if you really can't tell me, then you can't."

"It's not that I can't, I just won't," he said.

"Then you won't," she repeated.

"It's none of your business," he said.

"Fine," said Hermione, starting to get upset. Why did everything have to be so damn confrontational with Malfoy? And it _was_ her business. Very much so.

Hermione counted to twenty-five, then took a deep breath. "OK," she said, her voice bright and professional again. "Then let's talk about scheduling."

Malfoy scowled but voiced no objection. She took that as an invitation to continue.

"Batwing runs three full shifts, with the first shift starting at 7AM and running until 3PM. Most of the upper management is there for that shift. The heaviest manufacturing and most of the shipping happens during the second shift. Based on that, I think you will want to arrive by 6AM so you can speak with the third shift supervisors and you'll want to leave after most of the shipping is over with at 8PM. Does that sound right to y...." She paused when she registered the expression of absolute refusal on his face. "What's wrong now?"

"First of all," he said primly, "I am not accustomed to working before 10:30AM. Secondly, I already have an obligation to the Ministry from 10:30 until 4PM every weekday. I don't intend to miss any more after today. Thirdly, I am a member of various boards and societies whose meetings tend to be in the evening and it would be political suicide to stop attending those. Fourthly, I have never worked weekends and do not intend to begin. And fifthly, if I _did _go to Batwing at 6AM every day I would never get any sleep. I do value my sleep, Mrs. Weasley."

Hermione didn't try to hide her confusion. "Then when _were_ you planning on being at Batwing?"

"I was not planning on being there at all after this," he said disdainfully. "That is what _you_ are for."

She stared at him for a moment, taken aback. "I'm here to offer you advice on how to run your company, Mr. Malfoy, not to run it for you," she said.

"For what you're being paid, you'll give your advice to my vice-presidents in my stead or Trelawney will hear of it," he said sharply.

Hermione was coming to realize that Malfoy's famed ability to provoke violent response in people was no joke. He needed her help, he'd admitted to Trelawney he needed it badly, and to all appearances he was desperate to make Batwing work out as a company. So why was he giving her such a hard time? Was he just naturally bull-headed, or did he hate her so much that this was the best he could do in terms of having a normal conversation with her?

Unfortunately, however, his instincts were probably right. She didn't think he was really capable of taking old Mr. Batten's place. He didn't have the skill-set, and just by being himself he was sure to antagonize Batwing's management. In fact, it would be a miracle if he hadn't done so already repeatedly. On top of all that, he clearly didn't have the time to spend on the project.

But - and this was a big but - there wasn't anyone else available. There was no money to hire a CEO or raise one of the VPs up to it. Certainly she couldn't do it; the employees would see her as Malfoy's goon whether he was there or not. She wouldn't get any more respect than she'd already seen from that receptionist witch. And from an entirely objective angle, it wasn't really in Malfoy's interests to have a Weasley on the inside of his operations, or for his operating officer to be anything other than 100% loyal to him on a more-than-business level.

She sighed.

"I'm sorry look, I don't want you to think I'm refusing to help you in any way, because I'm not. But Mr. Batten ran his company directly. He made the major decisions and his vice presidents simply carried out orders. That's what the company is currently set up for, and those are the shoes you will have to fill unless you are prepared for a major restructuring."

Malfoy shifted about uncomfortably but said nothing. Hermione forged ahead.

"What I'm trying to say, is you're your own best resource when it comes to Batwing. Think about it. Old Mr. Batten had everything you have to work with: the same people, the same market, the same procedures. Nothing has changed. _And,_ he had decades of experience at it. There's only one advantage you have over him, that might make the difference between success and failure, and that's _you._ Without you, Batwing is doomed to failure, because not only will the problems not be changed, it is missing Batten now too -- its driving force, its leader and motivator and decision maker."

Malfoy opened his mouth to protest, but she raised a hand.

"I realize you have other obligations -- to the Ministry, to others -- but _think_ about it. Why do all those societies and organizations want you around? Because you're a valuable resource. Naturally they would want someone of your, er, leadership ability working with them."

Actually Hermione suspected he'd probably gotten onto all those boards and committees through arrogant bullying, trickery, and deceit. They probably only put up with him because they were afraid of him and his reputation, or because they were too stupid to realize what they had allowed into their midst. Fortunately he didn't have a lie detector or Sneakoscope in his pocket; she'd gotten a pretty good look at his possessions when the Aurors had them all out on a table.

"You've managed to gain yourself a pretty good position in the Ministry and hold onto it for years, as well," she added. "Obviously Mr. Patterson has a very good reason for keeping you in Supernatural Relations, or you would have been gone long ago."

"It's bec-" he began, but Hermione cut him off, fearing it would turn out bribes or blackmail were involved.

"But the Ministry is taking up all the best hours of your workday," she said. "During the best years of your life. Is that really where all your energy should be going? Into someone else's pocket? Or should you be capitalizing on your own skills and putting them into your own company?"

Malfoy frowned. He'd clearly never thought of it that way before.

"Can you take a temporary leave of absence from the Ministry?" Hermione knew the Ministry paid more in prestige than it did in actual money; Malfoy's lifestyle probably so far exceeded his Ministry income that he wouldn't even miss it.

Malfoy considered that in silence for a bit. He looked drawn and subdued. "I'd lose my position," he said after the pause.

With all of the rumors of Malfoy's Death Eater connections, not to mention his spectacular ability to make enemies in everyday situations, there were probably a lot of people eager to see him lose his cozy spot in Supernatural Relations -- and willing to make that happen as soon as it was left unguarded.

Hermione sighed. "Look you're probably right about that. But maybe quitting the Ministry is something you have to do. If Batwing is going to work, it _will _involve involve making some serious sacrifices. And I mean real sacrifices - giving up things you don't really want to give up."

"But I -"

"You said you were 100% committed to this," said Hermione. "Is that true? Gut level, are you ready to do whatever it takes to make Batwing work? Because that is what a business owner does when his business is in trouble: sacrifices everything to make it happen."

Malfoy's breath huffed out in frustration and he looked away from her.

"Or," she said more quietly, "do you have doubts? Because again, if you aren't 100% committed, you'd probably be better off selling now at any price."

He ran a hand through his hair and looked out at the horizon, looking none too happy. Hermione watched as he seemed to have an argument with himself internally.

"Fine," he bit out at last, as if forcing himself to say it. "Tell me what you want me to do and I'll at least consider it."

Hermione felt a rush of relief. It appeared that Malfoy was capable of cooperating, when he made the effort.

"Quit the Ministry position," she said firmly. "It's not doing anything for you politically that Batwing couldn't do if you got it back on its feet again. Batwing is a huge company and most of the wizarding manufacturers and retailers who use raw ingredients depend on it. That's plenty of power if Batwing is healthy. Granted you'd be taking a gamble that you _will_ be able to make it work, but you have to have confidence in yourself if you're going to run a business."

Malfoy frowned. _"If _I did that - and I'm not saying I will, but for the sake of argument - it would only leave me available in the middle of the day. Will that be enough?"

"No," admitted Hermione. "It's really important that you're there first thing in the morning too. Not only will it allow you to speak with the third-shift managers, but it will get you there before the high-level management like your vice-presidents. That's important if you want to gain and keep their respect. They have to be able to see your commitment and how hard you're working on this. They have to believe you're on top of what's going on at the company and there for everything important that happens, or they won't cooperate with you in making changes to the Batwing's operations."

He closed his eyes briefly, and she realized she was making him at least as crazy as he was making her.

"I told you before," he said in a strained voice. "If I go to Batwing at six, I will never get any sleep. Believe me, I am not just saying this to make your job more difficult. Between six and ten is very simply the only sleep I ever get. I can't go without entirely - no one can. I don't care how you ask it, that isn't something I can compromise on."

Hermione just stared at Malfoy for a moment before it finally dawned on her: he had to sleep during the day because he was a Death Eater at night.

_Don't think about that,_ Hermione ordered herself hastily. _This is only business. Just do your job!_ She forced herself to analyze the situation logically. Although it was none of her business why he couldn't sleep when normal people did, it _was_ her business if he couldn't make it in to work at a respectable hour. And unfortunately, the Batwing people already had their suspicions about what he did at night, as she'd overheard. The last thing either Malfoy or Hermione needed was to feed those suspicions.

"Time turner," she said finally.

Malfoy shook his head. "I vowed I would never do that."

"I know," said Hermione, "the time turner thing can get way out of hand. But at this point if you went back for sleeping, and _only_ for sleeping, it would probably help more than it would hurt."

He frowned. "Maybe," he said reluctantly.

"Can you obtain one?"

"I think I may already have one in my father's things. I'll have to ask the house-elves."

So he did still have house-elves at home. Hermione was disappointed even though she had already suspected as much. She forced herself to push that thought away, however; her personal politics had no place on the workplace.

"OK, that takes care of the mornings. Now for the evenings. What about these board meetings and so forth? I know you don't want to give them up but surely arriving late or sometimes being absent is better than nothing at all?"

"I don't happen to agree," he said stiffly.

"Which is more important to you between those meetings and making Batwing succeed?" Hermione persisted.

Malfoy squirmed in his seat and looked away from her, saying nothing.

"Well, that's something else you should think about when you're trying to decide," she said. "And then, regarding weekends...."

"No weekends," he said firmly. "Weekends are for my family."

"You should at least put in an appearance at Batwing on weekends," she said. "A half a day each on Saturday and Sunday would do."

That seemed to strike a nerve somewhere. Malfoy's entire body tensed and his grey eyes gleamed unpleasantly. "Whose time shall I sacrifice, then?" he demanded. "Who shall I fail to visit? My son in the hospital? My daughter alone at Hogsmeade without her brother? My father in Azkaban?"

"You visit Lucius in Azkaban?" Hermione blurted, amazed. She had never heard of an Azkaban prisoner receiving visitors. Then again, most Azkaban inmates were people nobody ever wanted to see again.

"Not that it is any of your business," he drawled, "but yes, I do. We _Malfoys_ happen to take our family responsibilities very seriously, unlike certain _Weasleys_ - Ronald Weasley in particular."

Hermione blinked at the unexpected attack. "What? What did you say?"

"I suppose you don't know any better, being a Mudblood and all, so allow me to enlighten you," said Malfoy arrogantly. "Your husband is a disgrace. Any _pure-blooded_ wizard who'd marry someone like you is a menace to both the welfare of our society and to the futures of his mongrel get. Why he would inflict such a stigma on innocent babes of his own blood is a complete mystery to me. And I'd thought the Weasley line could sink no lower."

Hermione gasped in outrage, but Malfoy wasn't done yet.

"And as if it weren't bad enough that he chose to limit his progeny to a lower station in life, he's also failed to teach them to defer to their betters - nearly guaranteeing that they will live their lives on the fringes of society. How long will it take your branch of the Weasley family to recover from the havoc he's wreaked? Decades? Generations? It is simply appalling."

Hermione snarled and opened her mouth to retort, but he interrupted her smoothly.

"Oh, I don't blame _you_ of course," he said. "Actually it was quite resourceful of you to marry up as well as you did. I expect your children are about as well-bred as the offspring of a Mudblood could be. And _you_ could hardly have been expected to be responsible for their proper upbringing."

Hermione sputtered incoherently.

Malfoy smiled coldly. "And as for how he treats you - granted, you _are_ very nearly an animal, little better than a Muggle. And I am hardly the expert on how Muggle-lovers think. But I should have thought a man would treat even a dog better if he was married to it."

If fire could have shot out of Hermione's nose, it would have then. She nearly exploded with rage. "Draco Malfoy, how dare you talk like that about my husband! Ron Weasley is the most loving, the most caring, sweet, generous man either of us will ever meet!"

Malfoy's eyebrows raised calmly. "You're defending him? I should have thought even you would have more pride."

"I do have pride," said Hermione furiously. "Which is why I won't allow you to sit there and insult my husband, who I happen to love and respect very much -"

"Despite his philandering ways?" inquired Malfoy. "And here I thought you were supposed to be intelligent."

Hermione felt a shock of adrenaline rush through her. "Ron does _not cheat,"_ she said loudly, and was horrified to find everyone in the restaurant staring at her. Tears were trying to rise up in her but she squashed them brutally down. "You have a lot of nerve making that kind of accusation, Malfoy," she said. "It's none of your business anyway!"

Malfoy looked up at her and she realized she had somehow come to her feet in her agitation. His expression was cool and unperturbed. "Really, Weasley, what passes for pride in you would be hysterical denial in anyone else. Do sit down before you make even more of a fool of yourself than you already have."

"No, you know what? I think I should go," said Hermione tightly.

Malfoy shrugged. "Fine, then. If you can't spare any more time. It does seem a bit odd after doing your best to press _me_ for more time, however."

Hermione clenched her fists. "Why are you attacking me, when I am only trying to help you? When you are _paying_ me to help you?"

"How can you ask me to believe you're trying to _help,"_ Malfoy sneered, "when you suggest I give up my only visible source of income, sabotage myself politically, ignore my family during their time of greatest need, and take unforgivable liberties with dangerous time-control artifacts?"

"I'm not arggh," said Hermione, frustrated. "My number one priority is Batwing. That's what you want, isn't it? You obviously weren't having any luck on your own or you never would have approached a consultant in the first place. You need my input to tell you what to do or it will never work. It's up to you to decide how to use that input, but I have to offer it as honestly as possible."

His eyes narrowed. "And your connection with Arthur Weasley? How do I know you're not just posing as a consultant, and really working for him? He _is_ your father-in-law."

"Malfoy," said Hermione in exasperation. "I've been working as a consultant for Trelawney for years. That's easy enough to verify. You do trust _her,_ don't you?"

His expression didn't change. "Yes," he said, after a pause.

Hermione gritted her teeth. It made her so frustrated when Trelawney was the least trustworthy person she knew, and yet Malfoy trusted _her_ and not Hermione.

If it had been anybody else, a normal client, she would have invited him to bring his children and come play Quidditch at her house sometime. Shared family activities were a wonderful way to create good relations between consultant and client. Many clients leaped at the chance to play a game of pickup with the famous Ron Weasley, Beater for the Chudley Cannons. And Ron loved playing, even with amateurs. He was so nice about it. People could really see how he loved the sport.

But between her own kids' misbehavior, Salazar's being in the hospital, Ron's prolonged absences and Malfoy's inability to fly legally, that was completely out of the question. Not to mention Ron would likely kill Malfoy or vise versa. If Hermione didn't kill them both first. Hermione's teeth ground together harder in frustration. Wasn't there any way to repair the rift between herself and Malfoy so that they could work together comfortably? This was going to be a very difficult assignment if they couldn't.

But then, as they continued to regard each other in a distinctly unfriendly way, Hermione began to examine his expression and posture more carefully. What was that bright dangerous glint in his eyes? Was it only malice? It seemed to Hermione that there was something else there too, something akin to stress. And the way he had braced himself against the booth - defensive, almost as if he felt under attack.

He was only lashing out, she realized suddenly, because the ideas she was throwing out were too much for him to cope with all at once. He'd been under a lot of pressure from many different directions for weeks now. Financial difficulties, political maneuvering, Auror harassment, bad publicity, chronic sleep deprivation, and a serious alcohol problem to name a few. And those were only the problems she knew about. There might be a lot more that she wasn't even aware of. And he _had_ been making an effort to listen to her and consider her words. It couldn't be easy for him, a high-flying aristocrat and bigoted pure-blood, to find himself needing help from a Muggle-born witch who was almost his enemy. And the changes she was suggesting weren't just scheduling changes, they were radical changes to his life. There was a lot to think about there and a lot to take in all at once. She felt bad about having pushed him so hard so soon. It was no wonder he'd lost it.

Much as she hated to admit it, Hermione did have areas of lack-of-expertise and dealing with other human beings was definitely one of them. Now that she thought of it, she realized why Malfoy had freaked right when he did. It was because she'd suggested he take time off of family for Batwing. If she'd stopped to think about it, she would have remembered that right now he had almost no family at all. Lucius was in prison. As far as Hermione had been able to tell while spying, Narcissa was at least absent and maybe missing. Salazar was in the hospital and Lucia was away at school. She knew how lonely it could be in that situation; she was in nearly the same situation herself. In hindsight she could kick herself for her insensitivity.

And speaking of insensitivity, though the time-distortion of being in her fly form and taking hundreds of tiny fly-naps throughout the day made it difficult to remember it, Nesbitt and Benkmann's attack on him had happened only that morning. Since then he'd drunk himself unconscious, then downed enough detox potion to sober a full grown Hippogriff, been hit by five Stupefies and three Ennervates, and followed that up with a Pepper-up potion the smoke of which was still curling faintly from his ears. Not exactly a chain of events to bring out the best in anybody's personality and Malfoy had enough trouble with interpersonal interactions to begin with. She wasn't going to help anything by getting upset with him for succumbing to stress.

She sighed.

"I'm I'm sorry, Malfoy. I know I've given you a lot to think about, and I know I can't expect you to trust me completely right away," said Hermione. "But I think over time you'll see that I am extremely trustworthy and reliable. My actions will prove it. I can help you build your company and make the right decisions. I think you'll be very pleased."

Malfoy frowned, clearly reserving judgment until that time arrived. However, no biting comment seemed forthcoming so perhaps the apology was accepted. Hermione made a mental note to see if she could speak with Jones privately and find out how the Auror had managed to get prickly Malfoy to be so comfortable around him. A few tips definitely wouldn't hurt.

"Now," said Hermione, "can we meet at this same time tomorrow?"

There was a long, long pause while Malfoy studied her and, presumably, decided whether he was still willing to have anything to do with her at all.

"We can meet tomorrow," he said at last, "but I have a S.P.E.W. board meeting at 5PM. It will have to be later," he said.

Hermione stared at him. _"You're_ on the board of _S.P.E.W.?"_ Then her eyes widened in realization. "You represent the interests of the _elf-owners_ don't you?"

"Of course," he said haughtily.

Hermione had to remind herself once again that her personal politics had no business on the job. "Ahem, well, never mind that," she said with a wince. "Later will be fine. Shall we meet at your office in Batwing, then? Say, 8PM?"

"Fine," he nodded. "8PM."

She noticed he didn't offer to shake her hand again, and she was still stinging from his insults, particularly the one about her intelligence and Ron's cheating. But at least neither of them had drawn wands in anger. And he _did_ seem to be doing his best to consider her suggestions for Batwing.

As she gathered her things and stood, she saw him looking at his watch.

"I daresay you shouldn't Apparate until you've had more time to recover?" she said.

"I'm meeting some friends here shortly," he said, "so I'm not going anywhere."

"OK," she said, "then I'll see you tomorrow."

But as she left, she was already planning how she could sneak back in again and spy.

* * *

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	14. Virginia Weasley and the Very Many Owl H...

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 14: Virginia Weasley and the Very Many Owl Headache

* * *

_Dear Ginny,_

_What is going on over there? I heard Malfoy attacked Hermione! And Nesbitt was there, so you'd better get him to tell you everything. Is she OK? What happened? Did Nesbitt kick Malfoy's ass for him? Give me details._

_--Ron_

* * *

_Dear Ginny,_

_I haven't heard anything from you. I can't get an owl through to Hermione either. I want to come home to see what's happened but I'll be tied up in practice until at least day after tomorrow. Owl me._

_--Ron_

* * *

_G,_

_I heard they might be moving up the raid sooner. Do you have any idea if this is true? Do you have any idea when they're planning on doing it now? You know they'll never tell me, not in a thousand years. Love you._

_--P_

* * *

_Dear Ginny,_

_Of course I wasn't writing just to get information about Malfoy out of you. Give me some credit for loving my own daughter and wanting to know how her life is going!_

_I am very glad to hear that Daschel is considering you for that promotion. I know you don't want your being related to anybody to affect your career, but I'm sure it wouldn't hurt if I put in a good word for you just this once._

_Speaking of Malfoy, I realize that you don't receive assignments related to him and that you and Pansy don't discuss him. But if you _did _happen to hear something of value, you _would_ tell me... right?_

_--Love, Dad_

* * *

_Dear Ginny,_

_Hello dear, how are you? I hope Arthur remembered to mention how proud we are of you. I hope you do get that promotion. I am sure you deserve it! I was writing because Arthur and I thought it would be nice to ask Ron and Hermione to hold another of their delightful barbecues sometime soon. What dates would you be available to attend? Do pick one when Pansy will be busy. I don't want to insult her by not inviting her, but you know how strained things get when she comes with you. I love you, dear, and so look forward to seeing you again._

_--Love, Mum_

* * *

_Dear Ginny,_

_You aren't ignoring my owls are you? I'm hearing these crazy rumors that Malfoy didn't attack Hermione at all, but was actually having tea with her. And being nice to her. Where do Aurors fit in then? What's going on? Tell me._

_--Ron_

* * *

_Ginny,_

_How nice is nice, anyway? He wasn't hitting on her, was he?_

_--Ron_

* * *

_Dear Auntie Ginny,_

_Thank you for the letter. I just looooove getting letters. Your job sounds very exciting. I think I would be scared to be a real Auror. You must be very brave. But how come you live in an apartment and not a house? Also, how come you live with my worst enemy's mom? You're my favorite aunt so I like you anyway though._

_My friend Megan Chafferty says that you like girls instead of boys because you had too many brothers and Grandma didn't spend enough time with you when you were little. I think my friend Megan talks too much and makes most of it up. I told her that and she stomped on Booboo's tail and made him screech and climb up the curtain! She is so mean sometimes._

_But my friend ShellyBellie Longbottom says that I'm just jealous because Lucia's mom sent her a real chocolate Auror with moving parts that even screamed when she bit off his foot. ShellyBellie is totally wrong though. I am soooo not jealous of mean old Lucia. She's stuck-up and bossy and likes to pick on me all the time. Also she is in Slytherin where they put all the bad people._

_--Love, NellieBellie_

_P.S. Is Lucia's mom my Auntie too? And if so, shouldn't I have gotten an Auror also?_

_P.P.S. Also, I don't want to marry a girl even if I do have too many brothers and sisters. Is that OK?_

_P.P.P.S. If mommy left daddy and married Lucia's dad instead, would that make Lucia and I half-sisters?_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_I'm a bit worried about Nellie. Look at this letter she sent me. Maybe you'd better sit her down and have a chat with her about a few things. I'm not trying to tell you how to be a mother, just suggesting.... _

_--Virginia_

* * *

_Damn it Ginny,_

_Now I know you're ignoring me! This isn't fair. I have a right to know what's going on with my own wife. What's Hermione gotten herself into? I know you know a lot more about that Malfoy git than you let on._

_--Ron_

* * *

_This isn't funny, Ginny!_

_I still can't get an owl back from Hermione. At least tell me if she is OK._

_--Ron_

* * *

_Miss Weasley,_

_You've been an excellent Auror and a wonderful asset to Special Operations. As you know you're under consideration for the Squad Leader position that will open up at the beginning of the year. I have every hope that we'll be able to select you for the job. In the meantime, though, things are heating up with the Draco Malfoy file. I'm well aware of the potential for conflict-of-interest in your case which is the only reason I have kept you strictly away from those operations. That way there will be no question of your lack of interference, even among the skeptics (of which I assure you I am most emphatically not one). It would not hurt your position at all if you were able to volunteer any additional information of which we might not be aware, however. So if anything occurs to you, please owl me immediately. Thank you._

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

* * *

_Dear Mother and Ginny,_

_Thank you for the chocolate Auror. I especially liked the insults he yelled when we pretended to curse him. They were very inventive! The whole common room was in shrieks of laughter until Professor Treberg barged in and told us to keep the noise down. What a grouchy old stick._

_Love,  
Lucia_

* * *

_That's it, I'm coming home._

_--Ron_

* * *

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	15. Flock Together

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 15: Flock Together

* * *

As the _Lucius _lay at dock amongst the other flying yachts beneath Segal's Roost, it was graceful, elegant and silent.

The same could not be said for the _Lucius'_ crew.

Six hulking figures piled off the boat laughing raucously and exchanging jokes and stories. They pushed and shoved each other good-naturedly as they scrambled up the cliff via a narrow path to the restaurant. Following them in her fly form, Hermione was surprised to find that though they were much older than when she had last seen them, she recognized them all. There were the hulking Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, and heavy-browed snaggle-toothed Marcus Flint. Then there was Millicent Bulstrode, so blocky and plain-faced that she could be mistaken for a wizard at first glance, and her baby sister who'd started at Hogwarts the year everybody else on the crew had graduated. "Baby" Bulstrode was even bigger than Millicent, and built like a brick bunker with a face like a dustcart. Blaise Zabini brought up the rear.

Together, the crew resembled a load of weight-lifting-obsessed gangsters taking a breather from breaking people's kneecaps and flinging Unforgivables around. Needless to say they were all suspected Death Eaters.

Once inside the restaurant, which had filled up considerably with diners, they made their way straight to the table where Malfoy was seated. Hermione had given up on watching him earlier because he'd spent the entire time using the Knowitall Ball she'd given him. Even Malfoy failed to be particularly entertaining while sitting there staring intently into a ball of glass for minutes on end.

Now he slipped the Knowitall into a pocket of his robes and rose to meet his friends. There was a good deal of back slapping and carrying on but they finally managed to sort themselves into the booth and sit down.

"It smells like tan-robes in here," said Zabini, nose twitching. "Patent leather, cheap laundry soap, and standard-issue Cedar wands."

"There _were_ tan-robes," said Malfoy. "The place was swarming with them about two hours ago."

"I knew it," said Zabini in satisfaction. "What'd you do this time?"

_"I_ didn't do anything."

"Bloody Aurors," exclaimed Baby Bulstrode. "Why don't they concentrate on the real criminals? The baby-stealers and the hexabombers and the ones who fornicate with tied-up Muggles."

They all turned to stare at her.

"Er, I mean," she blushed unattractively. "Not that anyone would _do_ that. I mean, not that I would know, even if anyone did," she said lamely.

Malfoy's forehead wrinkled in consternation.

"Ouch," said Goyle.

"Er, let's move on," said Zabini. "Quickly, please."

Fortunately Jones chose just then to make another of his amazingly well-timed appearances. "And what can I get everybody to drink tonight?" he asked, smiling.

"I'll have a Blast-Ended Skrewdriver," said Crabbe.

"I'll have a To-Kill-A-Sunrise," said Millicent Bulstrode, who apparently had no fear of hangovers.

"Wizard Red Stripe please," said Goyle.

"Make that two Skrewdrivers," said Crabbe grimacing. "I have to _watch_ him drink that swill."

"Double for me too then," said Millicent. With friends like these, it was no wonder Malfoy drank too much!

It was Flint's turn. He made a show of looking through the drinks menu, then grinned toothily. "Something has put me in the mood for sins of a Muggle nature," he said. "I think I'll have a Rum and Coke."

They all groaned and leaned over to poke or punch him.

"I didn't mean that _I _forn-" began a redfaced Baby Bulstrode. Millicent clapped a hand over her sister's mouth before she could protest too much.

"She'll have a Longshoreman's Surprise, on the rocks," Millicent told Jones.

"That sounds good, I'll have one too," said Zabini.

Jones took down their orders. "And for you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"More tea is fine," said Malfoy.

"Very good," said Jones. He left in the direction of the kitchen.

"Draco, aren't you drinking?" asked Crabbe.

"No, there's no point," said Malfoy. "Matsy and Nally nearly drowned me trying to make me O.D. on Yerg's Natural before I came here."

"Old Matsy still thinks two's better than one, eh?" laughed Flint. "You'd think the little stinker would have learned after last time."

"It was very nearly three," said Malfoy. "Lucky for me I woke when I did."

"Lucky for you you woke at all," said Millicent Bulstrode bluntly, "if it took two vials of Yerg's to do it. How long did they wait before they decided to give you the second one?"

"I didn't ask," said Malfoy. He glared at her. "Nor should you. Honestly, where are your manners?"

"Just because I care if you kill yourself," she huffed. "Though I don't know why I bother."

"I'm not going to kill myself," he said.

"Not intentionally," she muttered.

"Forty-five minutes," said Flint.

Everybody's heads swiveled in his direction.

"What?" said Malfoy.

"They waited forty-five minutes," said Flint. "I know, because I flooed to check up on you and they told me that's how long they were going to wait."

"You checked up on me?" Malfoy seemed incredulous and annoyed. "You spoke to my house-elves?"

Flint shrugged. "Vincent said you were pretty out of it out when you called him. So I thought I would give you a floo. It's no big deal."

"I do _not _need checking up on," said Malfoy, through his teeth.

"By definition," said Millicent Bulstrode, "if you remain unconscious for forty-five minutes after ingesting a full vial of Yerg's Natural, you do require checking up on. _Frequent_ checking up on."

"I was just tired," said Malfoy. "Thanks to Rudeo Nesbitt and his latest sidekick, I only got about two hours of sleep this morning."

"Oh I see, and big bottles that say Ogden's on them don't figure in at all," said Millicent, rolling her eyes.

"I for one don't blame him," said Zabini. "I'd get stupid-drunk too if I had to meet with Hermione Weasley face-to-face."

"I was not," said Malfoy, _"stupid-_drunk. Anyway, how did you know about my meeting?"

"It was all over the news, Draco," said Bulstrode. "How else would we find out? It's not as if you ever tell us anything anymore."

"So how did it go?" asked Crabbe. "The meeting, I mean."

Malfoy scowled. "Terrible. Bancroft and his bunch of idiots managed to Stupefy me five times before it was over. And I didn't even _do_ anything."

"You know, you'd get more sympathy if you didn't exaggerate all the time," said Millicent.

"I'm not exaggerating!" Malfoy bristled.

"Oh, ignore her," said Crabbe. "What about Weasley? You did manage to meet with her, didn't you? What did she say about Batwing?"

Malfoy seemed to deflate. "She wants me to quit the Ministry," he said, "and work on the company full time."

"Blimey, You-Know-Who will love that," said Crabbe. "He's been trying to pry you off the Ministry for ages."

"Him and everyone else on the planet," grumbled Malfoy.

Hermione was surprised that they would mention Voldemort publicly, even if they'd avoided using his real name. She would have thought Death Eaters would be more circumspect. Then again, she had no actual proof they were really Death Eaters. And the innocuous "you-know-who" could have referred to anyone - it was in much more general use than the more explicit "he-who-must-not-be-named".

"Well what's so wonderful about Supernatural Relations anyway?" asked Zabini. "It's a joke. How many times have they let you speak with an actual Supernatural Being in the last 22 years anyway? Once?"

"And that once was an accident," pointed out Flint.

The accident Flint was referring to was actually quite a famous incident. The receptionist in Supernatural Relations had made the mistake of asking Malfoy to watch the fireplace for her while she used the loo. During the three minutes and ten seconds of her absence Malfoy managed to offend a minor harvest deity so grievously that a small African country received a five-year drought and a thirty-year plague of mice and locusts as an outlet for the goddess' rage.

When asked to comment on this by the media, Malfoy had said something on the order of, "If killing off her own Muggles is the worst she can do to me, I almost wish I'd insulted her on purpose."

The next day, Malfoy was struck by lightning six times. Instead of dying, he spent two weeks at St. Mungo's, made a full recovery, and was soon back to work. Speculations as to why he'd gotten off so easily ranged from Dark Magic to unbelievable luck. Knowing how unlucky Malfoy generally was, most people assumed the former. He was quoted in the media as saying something like, "D'you call those little things lightning bolts? I'm still not impressed."

Fortunately for Malfoy, and for the hapless Muggle worshipers, the goddess did nothing more than give him the silent treatment after that.

"And it's not as if the work they _do_ give you could be that much fun," Zabini was saying. "Unless you've actually developed a love of paperwork and boring meetings over the years. You should just ditch that job. Your name is more than notorious enough without a Ministry title."

"Here we go again," sighed Malfoy. "I have no intention of quitting the Ministry for any reason."

"I don't see how you could possibly avoid it, and still go through with this crazy Batwing thing," said Flint. "I mean, how is the company going to do any better than it already is, if you never show up or do anything to it?"

"That's what the consultant is for," said Malfoy. Hermione noticed he sounded a good deal less confident now than he had when he'd said the same thing to her earlier.

"You go ahead and keep telling yourself that," said Flint. _"My_ money is on it failing unless you leave the Ministry."

"Oh, give him a break," said Millicent Bulstrode. "I agree the Ministry is a waste of time, but quitting it isn't going to help him with that Batwing insanity. Can you honestly see Draco running a business? Do you have any proof he has what it _takes_ to put in 80 hours a week and make all those decisions? He's never done anything like it. He wouldn't be able to take the schedule and the responsibility and he'd crack up."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't crack up," he said resentfully.

"She's right though," said Flint thoughtfully. "You're good at the surprise attack, strike first and take no prisoners, in-and-out in ten minutes, spend the next 24 hours lazing about recovering scenario. That's what you _do._ This Batwing thing is more like, oh...."

"Like that day-cataloging assignment Professor Bangkok gave her Fourth Year Life Studies class last year," said Zabini.

The others groaned, and Malfoy slowly flushed dark red. Hermione remembered the assignment well, because Christopher had been in that class and he had railed at length on how incredibly tedious the work had been. It had involved writing down and analyzing every single verbal interaction he was involved in, every single day for the entire term. The assignment was total overkill, since anyone with half a brain would have fully exploited its teaching potential after three or four days. Chris had only completed the assignment because he was as anal about homework as she'd been at his age. She distinctly remembered him gloating that Salazar Malfoy had balked after the first week, earning himself a resounding failure.

"The professor was biased," muttered Malfoy sulkily.

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Zabini corrected him with a grin. "I'd like to see how long _you_ would have lasted at that assignment."

"Salazar is simply too intelligent to do repetitive make-work that prevents him from having time for his other studies," insisted Malfoy.

Goyle, whose own son was hardly the shiniest hair on the unicorn-tail but still managed to pass all of his classes, stared at Malfoy incredulously.

"No comment," said Zabini.

"No comment," echoed the rest of them with various smirks and snickers.

Malfoy leaned back into his corner and crossed his arms over his chest, refusing them the entertainment of trying to defend his son's intellect further. Perhaps, Hermione thought, because there wasn't a lot of evidence to support his protests; despite a supposedly brilliant showing during private tutoring in their pre-teen years, neither Salazar or Lucia had ever done well at Hogwarts.

"So," said Zabini after a pause, "Are you ever going to tell us why you didn't just sell that company and wash your hands of it?"

"No," said Malfoy.

"Oh, come on," said Crabbe. "We're your friends. You can tell us."

"I don't care what you say," said Malfoy. "You're not going to talk me out of doing this, so you may as well not waste your breath."

"Hey, I think it's as stupid a plan as anybody does," said Crabbe, "but you don't hear me trying to talk you out of it. I just want to know _why _are you doing it. Maybe if we knew why, it would make more sense to us."

"Maybe I don't care if it makes sense to you," hissed Malfoy.

"Maybe you don't have a good reason for doing it, and you don't want to admit it," suggested Millicent Bulstrode.

"Oh come off it, Millie," said Zabini. "Have you ever seen Malfoy work this hard for anything without a good reason?"

"Maybe he's doing it," snickered Flint, "To finally prove he's not just a useless playboy fit for nothing but spending inherited wealth."

Malfoy went for his wand, but Goyle clamped a huge hand gently but firmly around his wrist before he could withdraw the weapon. "Calm down, Draco, you know they're only kidding."

"Besides," Baby Bulstrode spoke up, "everybody knows Draco's _really _doing it so he has something nice and juicy to give up when he marries Amexia Brandt and then divorces her."

Hermione noted with interest that Malfoy's expression had reached the same level of cornered, helpless fury he had displayed earlier in the day when the Aurors had roughed him up in his office.

As the others roared with laughter, Malfoy's eyes slitted dangerously. He raised his chin with determination, his narrow jaw tensed. "For the last time, I'm not going to tell you, so there's no use in asking me." He tried to jerk his wrist out of Goyle's grasp, but the size difference was such that even with the element of surprise, he succeeded only in wrenching his own more slender limb painfully. "Let me go," he hissed.

"You let go first," said Goyle.

With a scowl, Malfoy let go of his wand. Goyle pulled Malfoy's hand away from the pocket and then released it. Malfoy gave him a dirty look and rubbed his wrist with the fingers of his other hand, but did not go for his wand again.

Hermione was fascinated by the dynamics of the group. Malfoy was clearly the center of attention, but why were they giving him such a hard time? And why had he put up with their teasing for so long before getting angry? Was it simply out of lifelong habit, or was there something more to it than that? Hermione had not been spying on Malfoy for that long, but she had the definite impression that he would only take that kind of ribbing from people he considered friends. Maybe it was the others' way of making sure they were still in his good book -- or showing their resentment at his leaving them out of the Batwing loop.

Hermione forgot all about her hypotheses, however, as a sudden commotion sounded at the restaurant's entryway.

* * *

Instantly the confrontation of before was forgotten as all of the _Lucius'_ crew looked alertly in that direction, then back at Draco. For all that they'd picked on him earlier, it was clear that he was their leader - and that they'd worked a lot together. Before Hermione could figure out what communication had passed between them, the table scattered. Flint and Bulstrode skirted the wall and disappeared into the hallway to the loo. Baby Bulstrode went around to the right, toward an empty table in the corner, while Zabini headed toward the bar. Vincent Crabbe got up and slid in to the booth opposite Draco, leaving Goyle beside him.

And then, Ron Weasley burst past the maitre d' and charged down toward Malfoy's table, murder in his eyes.

Hermione was so shocked by the unexpected sight of him that she fell off the ceiling for the second time that day, landing with a resounding plop in Malfoy's tea.

_Wet! Wet! Wet! Agh!!! _

By the time she'd struggled to the edge of the teacup so she could see what was happening, Ron had dived down with hands reaching toward Malfoy's throat. But Crabbe and Goyle leaped up and shoved Ron back two or three steps; together, they were more than his match.

Hermione lost her grip on the slick porcelain of the cup and slid back into the tea, bobbing and frantically paddling.

"Weasley," said Malfoy in distaste. He'd backed into the corner of the booth during Ron's charge, but now that it was safe he edged forward again, eyeing Ron with loathing. "What do you want?"

"Where's my wife, you slimy little Death Eater?" Ron demanded, surging against Crabbe and Goyle's blocking arms.

"Can't keep track of your wife, Weasley?" sneered Malfoy. "That sounds like a personal problem to me." Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Malfoy picked up his tea with false casualness and almost had a sip, but recoiled when he saw Hermione floating in it.

Ron turned beet red. "I know she was here, you pointy faced git!" He struggled wildly to get at Malfoy, who flinched back but then proceeded to watch with interest when it was clear Ron couldn't get past his bodyguards.

"Yes, she was actually," said Malfoy. "But she left a short time ago. You just missed her." He used a finger to scoop Hermione out of his tea and wipe her off onto the tabletop.

"What did you do to her?" Ron yelled, as Crabbe and Goyle grunted under his onslaught.

"As I'm sure you'll learn in the news tomorrow, absolutely nothing. She was probably in more danger from the Aurors than from me." As a soaked and bedraggled Hermione crawled under the edge of a plate to hide, Malfoy nearly drank out of his tea, then thought the better of it and set it down. "Really, Weasley," he drawled, "the state of Auror Affairs since your father took over is simply appalling. Someone ought to do something."

"I'm going to kill you if you don't tell me where she is!" Ron vowed.

"Oh?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome to try, by all means. However before you do anything foolish, you might look to your left."

Baby Bulstrode smiled and waved with her left hand. Her right hand was under the table.

"And to your right," continued Malfoy, amused.

To Ron's right, Millicent and Flint lurked in the hallway, wands in hand.

"And behind you," said Malfoy.

Ron looked behind him and there was Zabini, staring at him in an intent and unfriendly fashion from the bar. No wand was in evidence, but Zabini's eyes promised mayhem and more.

Ron whipped his head around to stare at Malfoy in alarm.

Malfoy smirked and lounged back in his booth, quite confident of his safety now. "I've given you all the information I have, Weasley. Now why don't you run along before you get hurt?"

"You're going to regret this," said Ron, flushing. And then he turned and stomped away, heading for the front of the restaurant.

Malfoy's steely eyes followed him until the door had closed.

As soon as Ron was gone, Crabbe and Goyle burst into laughter. The others converged on the table and they were laughing too.

"Did you see the look on that git's face!" guffawed Flint. "He almost pissed his uniform when Blaise gave him the evil eye."

"Did you see him jump when he got a closer look at Baby?"

"Eh, doesn't everybody? Hey! Ow! Geroff me!"

As a brief scuffle ensued, the only one who wasn't laughing was Malfoy. He looked upset.

"Poor Draco," said Flint. "When are you going to have a good day? Today is turning out almost as badly as Tuesday? When was it?"

"This morning," said Crabbe. "If you're referring to the letter that set his desk on fire at the Manor."

"I was actually referring to when the restraint charm went off on the street in Hogsmeade."

"That would be Monday," said Millicent Bulstrode. "At least, Monday night was when Pansy told me about Derringer getting sacked."

"That's just crazy," said Flint. "How can they throw away a perfectly good Auror on the say-so of Nesbitt's ego? And he was actually _helping_ Nesbitt by dragging him off Draco. I mean, there must have been a hundred and fifty witnesses. Probably saved him from doing something that would have gotten _him_ sacked."

"I'm sure Derringer will be back," said Crabbe. "If Duncan doesn't re-hire him, the tan-robes will snap him up."

"They are certain to have some openings soon," said Malfoy darkly, stabbing the sugar in the sugar bowl with its spoon. "If I have any say in matters." He tossed the spoon onto the table beside the bowl and rose to his feet. "I have to go. I have a school board meeting."

"Oh, come on Draco," said Zabini. "Don't be so touchy. We won't talk about it if it bothers you that much."

"I'm not being touchy," said Malfoy. "I have to go." The others shifted to let him squeeze out of the booth, but they hadn't given up yet.

"At least stay long enough to hear how the race went," said Crabbe.

"I don't think so," he said, rubbing his left wrist where the flying restraint charm was attached. "Not unless you want a pack of Aurors down on your necks."

"Don't you at least want to see the damage?" asked Millicent Bulstrode.

Malfoy hesitated. "Damage?"

"Vincent managed to snap another boom," said Zabini. "Uncontrolled jibe downwind."

"It wasn't my fault Greg and Baby lost their grip on it," said Crabbe.

"But you were driving," pointed out Zabini, _"and_ you were driving last time too."

"It wasn't my fault," muttered Crabbe again, but he was blushing. "Draco's supposed to drive downwind. Just because the rest of you are too scared to try -- and make me do it all the time -- doesn't mean I should get all the blame."

Malfoy shook his head. "Don't worry about the boom, I'll have a look at it tomorrow. I'll be late if I don't leave now." He was looking increasingly stressed out, but the restraint charm hadn't gone off yet. And the others were _talking_ about flying. Hermione wondered how he managed that.

"You're not going to be back here tonight?" asked Crabbe.

"The meeting will probably run long. We're doing curriculum changes again, and that DADA teacher we threw out is appealing the decision."

_Ah, that's how he foiled the charm,_ thought Hermione. _He's deliberately thinking about the school board meeting instead._

"You threw out Professor Mordmore?" said Millicent Bulstrode in surprise.

"No, she quit after two weeks. This is Aldinius Wandheimer, the previous one."

"Mordmore quit?" said Goyle stupidly. "But my son just owled me talking about what she did in class yesterday."

"Believe me, your son isn't the only one who's confused," said Malfoy grimly.

As he turned and strode away, Flint said something and the table broke out in guffaws of laughter. Hermione took off and buzzed somewhat soggily after Malfoy. The laughter seemed to follow them all the way to the front of the restaurant. It sounded happy and carefree, a group of friends who managed to remain friends despite being surrounded by enemies. Malfoy seemed to find the sound upsetting. He rudely ignored the maitre d's goodbye as he shoved his way through the heavy front doors onto the windy Apparition platform. Hermione had half-expected to find Ron waiting there for him but the platform was empty.

Malfoy took out his wand, but didn't Disapparate right away. Instead, he walked to the edge of the platform and stood looking down at the yachts arrayed below. His shoulders were slumped. The wind gusted and he shivered. Hermione was struck suddenly by how lonely he looked in that moment. The restraint charm hadn't gone off so he wasn't thinking about boats. Hermione had a feeling he wasn't thinking about the school board meeting either.

She battled against the wind to try to get a better view of his face, but by the time she got there, he was gone.

* * *

_Definitions: _

_Uncontrolled jibe: When sailing on a downwind run and the stern of the boat passes through the eye of the wind causing the boom to swing abruptly and forcefully 180 degrees to the other side of the boat. Possibly taking off someone's head or damaging itself in the process._

_Driving: Operating the tiller (steering), hopefully in a knowledgeable fashion. Driving downwind is more dangerous and is usually done by the person most familiar with the boat, like for example its owner._

* * *

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	16. James Patterson, Owl Magnet

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 16: James Patterson, Owl Magnet

* * *

_Dear Mr. Patterson,_

_Sorry for owling you so late, but one of our moles has reported that Draco Malfoy is considering quitting his position with your department. Can you confirm or deny this? Has he spoken to you at all about it? We've confirmed that he hasn't formally applied to any of the other departments. Our source says he would be devoting the time to his business instead. Let us know anything you can._

_Codename Rising Hawk  
Cov Ops_

* * *

_Dear Mr. Patterson,_

_Our newspaper has received a tip that Draco Malfoy has quit working for the Ministry. Is this true? When can we interview you? I hope you don't mind being owled at home. We're hoping to include it in tomorrow's - well, technically today's - news. Thank you for your time._

_Lotta Brockstnappel  
Co-Editor, People Section  
The Daily Prophet_

* * *

_Dear Mr. Patterson,_

_Begging your pardon sir, but I just had to owl when I heard. Are you seriously consider letting Malfoy go? Don't you realize how difficult he'd be to replace? _

_Jana Lichs  
Assistant to the Director, Supernatural Relations_

* * *

_Sonja,_

_Sorry to wake you, but what's all this about Malfoy quitting? All of a sudden I'm getting all these owls and this is the first I've heard of it. Has he said anything to you?_

_ James Patterson  
Director, Supernatural Relations_

* * *

_Dear Mr. Patterson,_

_No, he hasn't said a word. Of course, he's missed so much work recently I haven't seen him as often as I normally would. He hasn't been complaining or anything but maybe he was interviewing with one of the other departments and no one knew? Sorry I don't know more but I'll see what I can find out. Oh, and don't worry, you didn't wake me. Ricky got a bonus at work today and we were celebrating._

_Sonja Lake  
Reception, Supernatural Relations_

* * *

_Patterson, old chap,_

_Heard you finally lost Malfoy. I guess this means you'll be forced to define a coherent interdepartmental policy? Ha! Ha! Ha! That boy had you spoiled, didn't he. Looking forward to seeing what you come up with, and who you find to implement it._

_Jax Jameson  
Director, Elf Relations_

_P.S. I know it's late, but I figured you'd be losing sleep over it anyway._

* * *

_James,_

_Sorry to hear about the loss of your employee. I just wanted to let you know we had nothing to do with it! It is true though, right? He's quit? Owl me when you get a chance._

_Arthur_

* * *

_Dear Mr. Patterson,_

_I am so pleased to hear that Malfoy has left your payroll. Certainly he was the only person (on the planet most likely, but certainly employed by the Ministry) capable of taking your department's arrogant hypocrisy, disorganized erraticism and blustering coverups in stride and presenting them to the rest of us with a perfectly straight face. With him out of the picture, you'll have no choice but to clean up your act. It's about time you people realized that as far as the rest of the Ministry is concerned, you only deal with the gods and spirits. You aren't gods yourselves!_

_Reba Hearst  
Muggle Relations_

_P.S. Merlin, is that the time? Ah well. I think I'll send it anyway. _

* * *

_Dear Mr. Patterson,_

_I flooed everyone else and he hasn't said anything to them either. Most people seem to think that his recent absences were because he was trying to get something going regarding a business he just acquired. That's pretty much what I thought too. Not that he'd necessarily tell us if he was planning something else all along. Anyway, the schedule shows him back today so we ought to be able to ask him when he comes in. I'll let you know if I find anything else out._

_Sonja Lake  
Reception, Supernatural Relations_

* * *

_Malfoy,_

_Get your butt out of bed and get in here! There's rumors flying everywhere that you're quitting! This isn't funny, and I don't appreciate it one bit. I'm telling this owl to drag you here by your ear if it has to._

_James Patterson  
Director, Supernatural Relations_

* * *

_Dear Mister Patterson Sir,_

_Itsy is very sorry but Master is not here right now. Itsy be sure to give very important message to Master the moment he comes home!_

_--Itsy_

* * *

_You Wretched House-elf,_

_You tell your "Master" I want him here the instant he arrives home. And what is he doing out at this hour anyway? No, don't tell me, I'm better off not knowing._

_James Patterson  
Director, Supernatural Relations_

* * *

_James, old bean,_

_Sorry to hear about Malfoy. Rotten luck, that. High maintenance fellow but he sure did a bang up job of putting a pretty face on your department. You know, I might be able to help with a replacement. My nephew Frank graduated from Hogwarts last year and is attending Prezwalski's School of Wizarding Law and Public Relations. He could use some part-time work and I think he might be just perfect for the position. Let me know if you'd like me to bring him by for an interview._

_Yours truly,  
Roger Lemmons  
Department of Conformity and Inspections_

* * *

_James Darling,_

_Where on earth are you? You got up to let that owl in and never came back. You didn't go in to the office did you? You could have said something!_

_Love, Your Smoochiekins._

_P.S. Should I put the cherries and whipped cream away?_

* * *

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	17. Balls

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 17: Balls

* * *

The office directly next door to Hermione's at Sibyll & Co. belonged to one Dennis Belmont, Know-It-All Consultant. Belmont had been working for Sibyll & Co. since the day of its inception. While he was very knowledgeable on nearly every subject, his particular specialties were toys and games, fashion, entertainment, visual design, advertising, and writing.

However it wasn't Belmont's encyclopaedic knowledge of media and marketing that Hermione was interested in now, but his closet.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Belmont. "Stay away, you!" He got up and tried to shut his door, but it was too late. Hermione threw her weight against it and managed to block it open with the side of her foot.

"I only wanted to ask you a quick - " she began.

"Poppycock! I know what you're really after," said Belmont, his long salt-and-pepper beard quivering. "You want to measure my closet for storing those Knowitalls, don't you!"

Hermione winced. As a matter of fact, she _was_ trying to find a new home for the Knowitall Balls piled up in her office. She'd come in to work early specifically to avoid anyone else while she accomplished her task, but for some reason every one of her coworkers was there early too. It was very suspicious.

Hermione tried to smile innocently. "Of course not, Denny, now why would you think a thing like -"

"Aha!" he crowed, and snatched something up from the corner of his desk. It was a 15cm tall cardboard cutout of Albus Dumbledore with a little stand attached to its feet and a cartoon word balloon sticking out of its mouth. The word balloon currently said: "Yes Denny, I am desperate to unload these six pallets of product from my office so I can get some work done!"

"What in the world...?" began Hermione. The words on the balloon changed to "What the devil?"

"It's new," said Belmont. "I just picked it up last week. It's a He-Says-She-Says charm. They come in all different famous wizards. They're just like a lie detector. Say something else."

"That's very cute, Denny, but I'm serious. I just want to talk to you for a second."

The word balloon changed again: "Quit dicking me around, Denny, I need to get rid of these Knowitalls and your closet is the biggest one!"

"Oh, fudge!" said Hermione in disappointment. "Forget it then!" She removed her foot, and Belmont cackled and slammed the door in her face.

* * *

The day, Friday, had not started out well. For one thing, it had started out in a dustbin - quite literally.

The dustbin in question was full of rotten fish and it was located behind Segal's Roost. Actually, for a fly, a dustbin was quite an enjoyable place to spend the night. It wasn't the fact that she'd spent the night in the bin that bothered Hermione, it was her reasons for doing it.

Quite frankly, she'd done it because she couldn't decide which was worse between watching Draco Malfoy suffer through a Hogwarts Board of Governors meeting or going home to a furious and irrational Ron Weasley. After circling about in indecision for a while, she'd given in to the urgings of her Animagus form and gone to check out the enticing smells emanating from the back of the restaurant.

And there she had stayed, in an avoidance even more extreme than spying on strangers.

Hermione had always tended to avoid her problems more than she should. The trouble was, hiding from problems always led to worse problems. Like hiding in the loo crying all day, only to have a full grown Mountain Troll barge in on her and start smashing the fixtures with his club. Or, she supposed, like spending 5 months desperately pretending nothing was wrong with her marriage and then having Ron Weasley barge in on her client and try to strangle him in a public restaurant.

It was time to face the facts. There _was_ something seriously wrong with her marriage. And she and Ron were going to have to discuss it face to face, in person, and with total honesty if they were going to be able to save things.

It was enough to make anyone want to hide in a dustbin.

* * *

Daisy Bromfiedler giggled at Hermione from across the hallway. Daisy was Sibyll & Co's newest employee. In fact, she had only started a couple of days before Hermione went on vacation so they'd barely met. As Hermione turned to look at her, Daisy grinned evilly and made crystal-ball-using motions with her hands then pointed in the direction of Trelawney's office. Hermione took that to mean that Trelawney had used Divination to predict that Hermione would be in early today to try to get rid of the back-stock and had thoughtfully warned all of her other employees.

Hermione sighed. _Thanks for the support, Sibyll, _she thought.

In any case, there wasn't any point in trying to foist the balls off on Daisy. As the new person Daisy had the tiniest office. She was lucky to have room to keep the Knowitalls she needed for her actual work.

What Sibyll & Co. really needed was a few extra magical store-rooms that were bigger than the building's apparent external size. Creating them was certainly technically feasible; unfortunately, the landlord was a stickler for keeping the place unaltered and had specifically forbidden it.

* * *

She couldn't really put a finger on exactly when she'd first become aware that Ron was cheating on her.

Oh, she'd always known that Quidditch players regularly cheated on their spouses, particularly while on the road. Buxom or well-hung fans flung themselves at Quidditch players of the opposite - or even the same - gender, in a display of worshipful exuberance that Hermione had never been able to equal even in her most emotional moments. But there had been a time when she somehow thought Ron never partook of such offerings.

She remembered a time when Ron's fan mail had been a family affair, with Ron and Hermione and the twins and Christopher all sitting around the Burrow's big kitchen table chatting and giggling, passing around photos and drawings, and answering the letters.

When had that stopped?

Not the first time a fan included a nude wizard-photo of herself. No, though Ron had been furiously embarrassed, Hermione simply furious, the twins convulsed in laughter, and little Christopher, who'd opened the letter, sitting there with his mouth hanging open in astonishment. No, that time Ron and Hermione had had an argument and Ron insisted he had no idea who the woman was, and let Hermione throw the photo into the fireplace. They still opened the letters together after that, and even let Christopher help. But by the time Jude would have been old enough to help, they didn't do that together anymore.

Now Ron was famous enough that his possible infidelity was a constant source of amusement to the sleazier media types. Hermione would not be at all surprised if her blurted exclamation from the day before - "Ron does _not_ cheat!!!" - appeared as a minor headline in the Daily Prophet's People section today.

And Ron's fan mail accumulated in sacks, which he picked up unopened and took with him when he happened to come home.

* * *

Hermione was still on the prowl for storage space when she encountered Pat Bofow, another coworker, in the tiny closet-like space that counted as the employee break room for Sibyll & Co. It was barely big enough for two people to stand side-by-side in front of a narrow table containing a combination coffeemaker and hot water dispenser, a little display rack of different kinds of tea, and a plate of Perpetual Pastries of dubious origins. The space underneath said table was taken up with packages of toilet paper and paper handtowels, because there was no place to store those in the company's miniscule loo.

Pat Bofow was a Know-it-All Consultant and her specialty was Muggle modern artifacts, quite an impressively broad topic. She was also a perky, cheerful person who had the exasperating tendency to try to stir up trouble.

"Welcome back!" beamed Bofow when she saw Hermione. "I heard you got stiffed with the Malfoy case. Rotten luck."

Hermione would be damned if she'd let anyone else at Sibyll & Co. know she'd been suckered into her latest assignment with the old you're-the-best-witch-for-the-job line, so she put on her biggest smile. "Oh, I _wanted _to do it," she exclaimed with false heartiness. "I'm really enjoying the challenge."

"Really?" Bofow stared at her in a combination of mock awe and genuine disbelief. "But isn't it dreadful to work with Draco Malfoy?"

"Heavens, don't be ridiculous, Pat. He's just like any other client," Hermione lied.

"But he's a Death Eater!"

"You shouldn't believe everything you read about celebrities," said Hermione. "Half of what the newspapers print is pure fabrication."

"I suppose," said Bofow. "Though in this case -"

"Anyway, if Trelawney considers him a legitimate client, then that's good enough for me," said Hermione firmly.

"When you put it that way," said Bofow. "But... I thought he hated your husband's family?"

_Troublemaker,_ thought Hermione grimly. "Eh, well, there's hate, and then there's _intense dislike,"_ said Hermione tightly.

Bofow's smile faltered. "What do you-"

"Oh! I was meaning to ask you, Pat," Hermione interrupted with a sudden perky smile of her own. "I need to find someplace to put all those Knowitall Balls that are in my office. Don't you have some space behind your-"

"Look at the time!" yelped Bofow. She looked at her wrist, realized she wasn't wearing a watch, and hid her arm behind her back. "I have to run, I should have been back to work five minutes ago. Sorry, Hermione."

She snatched up her tea and scurried out of the break room lest Hermione somehow talk her into accepting 6 pallets of packaged merchandise for indefinite storage. But at least she wouldn't be asking any more difficult questions about Hermione's assignment for a while.

* * *

During her darkest moments, Hermione could admit that a good deal of her and Ron's problems were her fault as much as his. If you looked at it in a certain, twisted, way. Quidditch was his life, and yet she had never been able to take any more than a mild interest in it and had hardly ever tried to play it, only watched. Ron had invited her to go on the road with him, but she had felt her career and not boarding the kids too young was more important. And for a while, when he'd first stopped coming home as often, she hadn't always made a special effort to be home whenever he was. Looking back, that was a mistake.

Then again, looking back, there were a lot of mistakes. The first one being marrying Ron in the first place. It had just sort of happened, with Harry gone off to Auror Academy and Molly and Arthur anxious for Ron to marry so they could offer him the Burrow as a place to raise a family. Ron had been flush with excitement at landing a position with the Dartmoor Darts, a Cannons farm-team, and Hermione's new position at the Ministry Library still seemed like an adventure. And maybe that exuberance for life they'd both felt then had been partially reflected in each other. At least for a while.

Hermione still loved him, in a way, but she felt like she was loving from afar, as if he were any Quidditch star and not actually her husband. Just like a besotted fan, pining at pictures and the idea of the man but not really knowing him. And not really having any chance of ever calling him 100% her own.

* * *

Hermione still hadn't found anyplace to put the back-stock by the time Trelawney rolled into the office around 9AM, quite late for her. Hermione suspected it was so that the others would take the brunt of Hermione's energy in attempted Knowitall Ball redistribution. If that was the case, it had worked. Hermione was sick of the Knowitall Ball problem and had temporarily given up on it. She was slumped in Trelawney's office because there was no place to sit in her own, not if she didn't want to climb nearly to the ceiling.

She heard Trelawney working her way down the hallway shrieking and hugging employees as she came. There were sporadic coughs and chokings indicating that Trelawney was wearing her personal censer today.

"Hermione, darling!" Trelawney beamed as she sailed into her office, trailing ribbons, gauze and sequins and generally polluting the environment with a cloud of patchouli and witch-lavender.

"Hello, Miz Trelawney," said Hermione.

"I've had a terrible time getting an owl through to you," Trelawney exclaimed. "Not one in twenty seems to be able to deliver."

Hermione knew this was because most owls couldn't find her when she was in her fly form, and those few who could find her couldn't figure out how to make their delivery. However, Trelawney did not know that Hermione was an Animagus. Nobody did, and Hermione wanted to keep it that way. She'd been taught the ability secretly by Rita Skeeter in return for releasing the reporter from an unbreakable jar many years ago. She'd never gotten registered. As far as she knew, Rita Skeeter was still the only soul who knew. At first Hermione had agonized about whether to register or not, despite her agreement with Skeeter, but not for many years now. She valued her freedom and her secret too much, and besides, she could go to prison for remaining unregistered for so long.

"Last night I tried to scry where you were," Trelawney continued, "but all I got was a picture of a big dustbin full of rotten fish. It was swarming with flies!"

"It must be a metaphor for something," said Hermione straightfacedly.

"I'm not familiar with any Divinatory metaphors involving dustbins," began Trelawney with great concern. "And usually they'd be associated with divining, not scrying. But certainly in the loosest terms it's possible. Perhaps it is symbolic of some sort of, of discontent you may have with your life situation...."

Hermione had to fight off hysterical laughter. It was obvious that Trelawney was making it all up based on what she personally knew of Hermione's life. "My life situation? Really? Whatever have I to be discontented about?"

Trelawney frowned. "Well, there's your marriage problems...."

Hermione waved that off. "Don't believe everything you read in the paper. It's just because Ron's famous. They'll say anything about him to sell a few more issues."

"Well, you _have_ seemed unhappy lately. And you keep disappearing...."

"Do you think it's possible I'm suffering an intermittent loss of planar adherence?"

There was a pause while a horrified Trelawney considered the possibility. "My goodness, I certainly hope not!"

"Or maybe my actual existence is suffering a discontinuity. I've often wondered if I am spontaneously channeling dozens of different spirits one right after the other, though I can never remember what happens...."

Trelawney blanched. Of course she could never tell when Hermione was pulling her leg, and now was no exception. "My word! Perhaps you should get yourself examined by a para-medi-wizard."

"I'll think about it," Hermione promised. This might jump up and bite her in the arse later, but at least Trelawney was well off on the wrong track about why Hermione was so hard to get hold of.

"By the way, have you seen the Daily Prophet this morning?" asked Trelawney.

"No...?" said Hermione.

"Oh dear, well there's a rather distressing item in the People section about someone you know. I think you will be interested, though not pleased."

Hermione groaned as Trelawney handed her a copy of the paper. She was certain it would be an article about Ron, and how Hermione had made a fool out of herself at the restaurant with her plainly ridiculous protestation of his innocence. Those Daily Prophet reporters were everywhere, and a line that damning simply could not be ignored.

But when she opened the paper to the People section and scanned for the article in question, the expected headline did not meet her eyes. Instead, to her shock, she read this:

_MALFOY SACKED BY MINISTRY_  
_Our Ministry contacts report that Draco Malfoy, son of ex-Ministry official, convicted Death Eater and Azkaban inmate Lucius Malfoy, has been sacked from his position of Departmental Liaison by the Department of Supernatural Relations. According to several eyewitnesses, who asked to remain anonymous, the sacking occurred in the early hours of this morning after a terrific row during which Malfoy and Director James Patterson exchanged a number of highly personal insults. Shortly thereafter, Malfoy was observed packing his personal effects. The Daily Prophet has since received an official press release signed by Mr. Patterson confirming that Malfoy is no longer with the department. No reason was given. We were unable to reach Mr. Malfoy for a comment, but Wizard World News quotes him as follows: "It was five-thirty in the morning. I was tired. I might have said a few things I didn't mean. But still, after 22 years I would have hoped for a little more loyalty." Malfoy, long a Patterson supporter, has worked directly under him since Patterson was only a Head Clerk and is regarded as largely responsible for Patterson's successful climb through the ranks._ _When asked what his plans are now, Malfoy reportedly said "I plan on going home and getting some goddamned sleep."_

"Oh no," said Hermione in horror. "This is all my fault! I encouraged him to ask for a leave of absence. He's really going to hate me now!"

"Some people are just born under unlucky stars," said Trelawney. "Draco is one of those people. He's had bad luck since even _before_ he was born. It isn't anything to do with you."

"Somehow, I doubt he'll see it that way," said Hermione morosely.

"Well, it's probably for the best anyway," said Trelawney. "I doubt he'd ever have quit of his own accord, no matter how good it would be for Batwing."

"I hope I _was_ right about it being good for Batwing," said Hermione. "Nobody else seems to think he will be able to run it even with my direction. Maybe I'm wasting both his time and mine. I just thought, that since there was no money to hire anyone else, and he seems to care so much...."

Trelawney placed her hand on Hermione's arm. "I'm sure you made the right decision, darling."

But Hermione was not so sure.

* * *

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	18. Interview with the Explatteree

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 18: Interview with the Explatteree

* * *

Motts: Hello, and welcome to Wizard Radio's Friday Late Morning Chat. I'm your host, Monty Motts. Today our guests are Daily Prophet reporter Rita Skeeter and retired Auror Nixon Johnson. May I call you Nix?

Johnson: Sure, Monty.

Motts: We're very excited to have you both here today.

Johnson: It's a pleasure to be here.

Skeeter: Yes, it is.

Motts: Now Rita, you're working on an in-depth article about Auror Rudeo Nesbitt, aren't you?

Skeeter: Yes, I am, and my interview with Nix Johnson here is part of my research for that.

Motts: And you've agreed to do that interview here on the show - I think that's wonderful. A lot of our listeners are very interested in Auroring and what goes on in an Auror's real work as opposed to action-adventure novels.

Skeeter: It's an interesting subject, Monty. And I think Rudeo Nesbitt is a particularly interesting Auror to focus on because he does resemble the heroes of those novels.

Motts: Really!

Skeeter: Yes, and he takes on some of the wizarding world's most dangerous real-life villains.

Motts: You mean like You-Know-Who?

Johnson: Actually, although He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is given credit for a lot of trouble caused in the last couple of decades, since his eighth defeat by Harry Potter he's relied upon his followers to do his dirty work for him. So it's those who we are constantly up against."

Skeeter: People like Draco Malfoy.

Johnson: Exactly.

Motts: Why don't you go ahead and do the interview? I'll watch, and maybe interject a question or two of my own, if that's all right?

Skeeter: All right.

Johnson: Sure, let's do it.

[a shuffling of papers and squeaking of chairs]

Skeeter: First of all, how do you feel about Rudeo Nesbitt? Would you consider him a friend?

Johnson: Oh, yes. I have nothing but respect for Rudy and am honored to be his friend.

Skeeter: You were his partner for how long?

Johnson: Twelve years, I think. Just about.

Skeeter: That must be a record. Doesn't Nesbitt have a reputation for being hard to work with?

Johnson: He has that reputation, but I think it's undeserved.

Skeeter: Why do you think he's been through so many partners since you?

Johnson: Young Aurors these days are too soft. They have too much sympathy for the other side, and they flinch at seeing justice done. They complain about his behavior on the job, and either ask for a transfer or Rudy asks for someone else.

Skeeter: So you'd say Nesbitt is not too soft on the opposition?

Johnson: Rudy is a good, tough, Auror. He never forgets what he's up against. They're not people, they're Death Eaters.

Skeeter: Ooh. What a fabulous quote. [sound of scratching quill]

Johnson: Feel free to use it, Rita.

Skeeter: So you don't feel that Death Eaters are people?

Johnson: They give up their humanity when they become cult worshipers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and start killing and torturing innocent Muggles with their own hands. They're worse than inhuman - what kind of animal slaughters its own kind? They're monsters is what they are.

Skeeter: I see. But some purebloods would argue that Muggles _aren't_ their own kind. Aren't any witch or wizard's kind.

Johnson: Well, they aren't, but they're still people. Murder of the innocent is always wrong.

Skeeter: Nesbitt's famous, but you were a household name yourself for a while after you threw yourself in front of a curse to save Nesbitt's life.

Johnson: Well that's what it said in the news at the time, though that's not exactly how it happened.

Skeeter: Now, that whole incident - and the nature of the injuries which forced you retire - was supposed to be classified, is that right?

Johnson: Yes.

Skeeter: But you've decided to break the silence and tell the story now. Why is that?

Johnson: All of these Death Eaters have normal lives that they hide behind. I think part of the reason why so few of them are caught and convicted is because nobody wants to believe that their friend or neighbor or that famous wizard they read about in the newspaper is actually a murdering, cult-worshiping felon. Until someone is actually convicted, the list of what they're suspected of is kept from public view, even if the list is quite extensive. In some of these cases, these criminals have been getting away with hideous crimes for years and years, simply because the Ministry is terrified of falsely accusing someone who isn't actually guilty and ending up with another Sirius Black scandal.

Skeeter: Is it actually possible some of these accused Death Eaters are innocent?

Johnson: Maybe for some of the more obscure ones. Not the big names.

Skeeter: Like Draco Malfoy.

Johnson: Yes. And the true story of what happened to me is perfect evidence of why Draco Malfoy should not be walking free. I feel perfectly comfortable in talking about it because I was there, I saw it with my own eyes and I was the one he did it to. There's no chance of falsely accusing anyone.

Skeeter: But it _is_ supposed to be classified.

Johnson: Yes.

Skeeter: So you'll be specifically going against your Auror's oath by revealing the details to the public now.

Johnson: Yes.

Skeeter: Aren't you afraid of possible repercussions, from either Malfoy or your former employers?

Johnson: I haven't been able to walk in ten years, I can't trust myself to operate a wand safely, and I'm in constant pain. What can they do to me that's worse than that?

Skeeter: Ah yes, I see your point. Let's talk about what happened, then. The curse you were hit with - what was it?

Johnson: Among themselves the Aurors call it the Explatteratus. That's not the actual words to the curse, mind you.

Skeeter: So that's more a code name for it?

Johnson: Yes.

Skeeter: I understand you were the first person ever to have this so-called Explatterate Curse cast on you?

Johnson: Yes I was, Rita, as far as we know.

Skeeter: No details were released to the media. It only said you were nearly killed by a previously unheard of curse. What actually happened?

Johnson: [pauses, as if remembering] We had surprised the suspect and managed to disarm him. Well, we _thought_ we'd disarmed him as we'd managed to get his wand.

Skeeter: This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about.

Johnson: Yes. Rudy had gone to search him, he'd ordered him to put his hands on the wall and was coming up behind him. And then suddenly Malfoy had another wand in his hand - he'd been carrying a second one - and....

Skeeter: Yes???

Johnson: I can't tell you the actual words of the curse.

Skeeter: I understand.

Johnson: I had been covering Rudy's back and I saw what was about to happen a split second before he did. I jumped forward and managed to push Rudy out of the path of the curse but I couldn't get out of the way fast enough myself. I wasn't really trying to take the hit for him, you know, I simply wasn't fast enough and it caught me.

Skeeter: Tell us what it was like.

Johnson: It causes the victim to explode. Very messily.

Skeeter: Oh, how awful!

Motts: Hmm. Yes.

Johnson: Yes, I was blown completely to pieces and they even found some of the pieces in pieces. I don't remember anything between the curse initially striking me and waking up at St. Mungo's many weeks later.

Skeeter: I wish you people listening in the audience could see this. He's lying on a levitating cushion and there are scars all over his face and arms and legs... you can see where the parts had to be put back together.

Motts: Tremendous bravery and determination to recover from such a grievous injury. A lesser wizard certainly couldn't have made it this far.

Skeeter: I agree.

Johnson: Thank you, both. But I consider myself very lucky. We think it was Malfoy's first time ever actually casting that curse. The victims found since then have been more or less vaporized.

Skeeter: [Obviously both taken-aback and titillated] Really!

Johnson: It's a devastating curse, and it's even worse for those who see it happen than for the victim who is dead nearly instantly. Fortunately it's only very rarely used.

Skeeter: It's rarely used? Why? It sounds so powerful.

Johnson: First of all, not that many of the Death Eaters seem to have mastered the curse. We only know of it being cast by four others besides Malfoy and that was a long time ago. He's the only one who still seems to use it occasionally, and that only when a particularly grisly message needs to be sent to someone. Often someone within their own camp."

Skeeter: You mean other Death Eaters?

Johnson: Traitors, and the like. Or their relatives, if the traitors themselves are too valuable to destroy.

Skeeter: Oh, I see.

Johnson: As I say, it's used to make a point. It makes quite an impression on the witnesses, but it's too wasteful of a spell to use for regular combat. It tires the caster out so badly they can't always get to safety after doing it. Avada Kedavra is a lot more efficient.

Skeeter: Efficient! It just gives me the shivers when you say it that way!

Johnson: That's how they think, Rita. They're cold-blooded murderers.

Skeeter: Tell me about Draco Malfoy.

Johnson: He's one slippery little fellow, and he's You-Know-Who's number one man. They don't get much more dangerous than Draco Malfoy.

Skeeter: Draco Malfoy, dangerous? Really? Aside from that one Explatterate that got you, I mean?

Johnson: I think there's a tendency for the public to underestimate him because his father was so much larger a figure.

Skeeter: And the Aurors?

Johnson: Oh, we take him -- they take him very seriously.

Skeeter: Why is that?

Johnson: If you could see the list of crimes he's been tied to, you wouldn't have to ask.

Skeeter: But that's classified, of course.

Johnson: Yes. [a pause] What _is_ that thing?

Skeeter: What is what? Oh this? It's my Prolific PrattlePen.

Johnson: Is it writing down what I'm saying?

Skeeter: Not exactly, it tends to embellish a bit just to make things more exciting. It's like the old Quick-Quotes-Quills but faster and more colorful.

Johnson: Let me see - Oh, my god! You're not going to print _this_ are you?

Skeeter: [sounds of a scuffle and papers falling to the floor] Never mind that... oof! Argh! Let go! Let's just continue the interview!

Motts: Sounds like it's time for a break. How about a word from our sponsors, Hagrid's Unique Pet Emporium? We'll be back afterward to hear more about the life and times of Rudeo Nesbitt from the point of view of retired Auror Nixon Johnson.

* * *

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	19. PostIt Notes at Malfoy Manor

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 19: Post-It Notes at Malfoy Manor

* * *

_(10:45AM)_

_Master not go to work. Misty thought Master supposed to go back today. What happen?_

_--Misty_

* * *

_(10:58AM)_

_Misty sleep under rock last night? Master lost Ministry job. That why Master in bed all day. Poopsie is a bad elf._

_--Nally_

* * *

_(11:34AM)_

_Not Poopsie's fault Master lose job! Poopsie take good care of Master._

_--Poopsie_

* * *

_(11:36AM)_

_What you doing here in house! Poopsie not belong here anymore. Go away Poopsie!_

_--Nally_

* * *

_(11:37AM)_

_Nally right Poopsie, you go away!_

_--Matsy_

* * *

_(12:42PM)_

_Misty not understand. Master not work for Ministry anymore? What happen?_

_--Misty_

* * *

_(12:55PM)_

_Itsy is a bad elf. Itsy go slam hand in door again._

_--Itsy_

* * *

_(1:13PM)_

_Not Itsy's fault. Master say not bring message when he goes to the bad place._

_--Ginger_

* * *

_(1:30PM)_

_Go away bad owl! Owl not leave elf notes! Go back to owl place._

_--Nally_

* * *

_(1:35PM)_

_Nally, not yell at Ginger or Master gets anonymous note telling what happen to magic cream pitcher last year._

_--Ginger_

* * *

_(2:10PM)_

_Ginger not dare! Otherwise Ginger find very hot perch in owl place. Burnt feet Ginger! No blackmail Nally._

_--Nally_

* * *

_(2:14PM)_

_Why Poopsie's fault?_

_--Misty_

* * *

_(3:01PM)_

_NOT Poopsie's fault. _

_--Poopsie_

* * *

_(3:05PM)_

_Poopsie, Mrs. Chatworth ask for you at Batwing. Go hurry!_

_--Ginger_

* * *

_(3:17PM)_

_Wicki say, good riddance._

_--Wicki_

* * *

_(5:10PM)_

_Master still asleep. When supposed to wake up?_

_--Matsy_

* * *

_(5:13PM)_

_Poopsie has appointment book. Ask Poopsie._

_--Sticky_

* * *

_(5:17PM)_

_Go away Sticky! Not want your advice. Not ask bad Poopsie._

_--Nally_

* * *

_(5:50PM)_

_S.P.E.W. meeting today. Master not go to meeting?_

_--Dingle_

* * *

_(5:59PM)_

_Master late. Very late. Meeting start an hour ago. Poopsie try to tell everyone but Poopsie's notes keep disappearing from message board. Someone tear down all Poopsie's notes!_

_--Poopsie_

* * *

_(6:05PM)_

_Nally said, go away Poopsie!_

_--Nally_

* * *

_(6:10PM)_

_Poopsie, not cause trouble. Just go away. Please?_

_--Pokey_

* * *

_(6:12PM)_

_Nally, go wake up Master._

_--Matsy_

* * *

_(6:15PM)_

_Matsy's turn. Matsy not fool Nally!_

_--Nally_

* * *

_(6:19PM)_

_No, Nally's turn. Matsy remember perfectly. Go wake up Master or Master will be very angry._

_--Matsy_

* * *

_(6:23PM)_

_Master be very angry either way and IS Matsy's turn._

_--Nally_

* * *

_(6:36PM)_

_Hour and a half late now! Please wake up Master, bad elves! Not making him late with your arguing._

_--Poopsie_

* * *

_(6:46PM)_

_Go AWAY Poopsie! Bad Poopsie! Poopsie goes free, bad elf. Not belong here anymore._

_--Nally, Matsy, Misty, Pokey, Itsy, Bitsy, Dingle, Pringle, Wicki, Cholly, and Blatz_

* * *

_(6:48PM)_

_Dingle go wake Master._

_--Dingle_

* * *

_(7:08PM)_

_Master awake now. Dingle go clean grand staircase with tongue._

_--Dingle_

* * *

_(7:14PM)_

_Poor Dingle! _

_--Pepsi_

* * *

_(7:18PM)_

_Pepsi back! Mistress Narcissa back too?_

_--Nally_

* * *

_(7:25PM)_

_No, Mistress ask for perfume in top left drawer. Then Pepsi go, sorry._

_--Pepsi_

* * *

_(7:38PM)_

_Poor Pepsi! Never home. Where Mistress now?_

_--Matsy_

* * *

_(7:41PM)_

_Sorry! Not talk, must go._

_--Pepsi_

* * *

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	20. Hawkseye

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 20: Hawks-eye

* * *

When Hermione arrived at the Auror Affairs Central Office for her little talk with Arthur that evening, she found the place in an uproar.

Maisie, the receptionist, answered the floo over and over again with frantic haste. Messengers wearing Aur Central livery scurried in and out of offices carrying portable braziers to transfer the calls. Five or six reporters with hawks-eye charms and lite-brites had staked out the lobby. They were enjoying Buzzwell's Buzzing Donuts and Muggle cappuccinos and tossing heckling questions at the harried-looking Aurors rushing past in every which direction. Support staff scrambled after the Aurors babbling legalese and clutching handfuls of papers or in some cases, their own pointy hats crumpled into nervous wads. As Hermione stood in the midst of it all trying to get Maisie's attention, two owls collided over her head and fell to the floor, knocked out cold. Nobody seemed to notice as the scrolls they'd been clutching rolled out of sight under Maisie's desk.

Hermione decided it would be for the best if she just got out of the way. She retreated into the back corner of the waiting area to sit on one of the couches until Arthur came looking for her.

* * *

The remainder of her day at Sibyll & Co. hadn't gone well at all. In fact, the afternoon had almost been worse than the morning. If this - her first full day back in the office in over three months - was an indication of what it was going to be like from now on, she almost regretted coming back.

She had still not succeeded in finding a new home for the Knowitall Balls stacked up in her office. The entire company appeared to be united against her on that subject; nobody went out to lunch, and they guarded their office space with fanatical interest. When in desperation Hermione had asked Trelawney to to intercede, her boss had simply patted her arm and assured her that she would be spending so much time at Batwing that she'd scarcely require an office at Sibyll & Co. at all.

Now there was an unpleasant thought. Hermione had spent at least an hour yesterday trying to convince Malfoy that he had to spend every waking minute at his company. It had been a sore subject even before the Ministry fired him. The last thing she wanted to do now was to spring it on him that _she'd_ be there constantly as well.

Because her own office was unusable, and because no one else would allow her in theirs, she'd been forced to use Trelawney's office for doing her actual work. This had encouraged Trelawney to glom her in what Trelawney obviously thought of as a helpful manner, much to Hermione's woe. While her employer meant well, Hermione really preferred to do her job without the far-out theories, "data" collected using divination, and direct inhalation of sidestream incense smoke from a distance of less than a meter. And Trelawney never stopped talking, making concentration nearly impossible.

She thought about the secret rooms which Malfoy had allegedly added to his Manor to hide Dark Arts items from the Ministry. Since the Ministry had never succeeded in finding one while it actually contained anything, they must be pretty good secret rooms. Surely what could fool Aurors could fool Trelawney's landlord. She wondered if Malfoy could be convinced to install a secret storeroom at Sibyll & Co., in return for not having to see Hermione all day every day.

Or better yet, install a secret office.

* * *

Hermione waited in the Aur Central lobby for nearly forty-five minutes. During that time, the hubbub did not die down in the least, and in fact only grew worse. Someone made delivery of several wooden crates, which they abandoned in the waiting area after being unable to get anyone's attention to sign for them. The Aurors tromping through the lobby ignored the crates, but after about twenty minutes a couple of the reporters pried one open and were excited to find that they were Draco Malfoy's complete Apparition record. Hermione knew that the Department of Apparition Licensing and Enforcement kept close track of who Apparated where, but she was a little puzzled as to why Malfoy's records would be arriving here, and why they were so interesting. Extensive, yes, due to the amount of Apparating he did, but surely there was nothing incriminating in there? Apparition was tracked by wand, not by person. Obviously if Malfoy planned to Apparate somewhere illegal he wouldn't use his own wand, he'd take advantage of his highly unusual and possibly unique ability to Apparate using someone else's. In fact, now that Hermione thought of it, that's probably why he'd gone to the trouble to learn the trick in the first place. Maybe the Aurors hoped that by going over the entire record with a fine toothed comb, they'd catch a mistake or two.

When Arthur finally did appear, the lobby was still seething with activity though it was an hour after Aur Central's public areas usually shut down for the day.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Hermione - things have been an absolute zoo here, as you can see," explained Arthur. "We've had a bit of an emergency, if you didn't already know."

"That's all right, Arthur. Thanks for seeing me on such short notice."

"Not at all! That's what family's for, isn't it?" Arthur beamed at her and led her toward his office.

"Er what's the emergency?" asked Hermione.

"You haven't been listening to Wizard Radio, have you?"

"No, I was at work, and then it took me a couple of hours to fly here."

"Ah. Well, you remember Special Ops' Agent Johnson don't you? From way back when?"

"Nixon Johnson?" Hermione thought it odd that she hadn't heard about Johnson in years, and now he was mentioned twice in two days. "Nesbitt's old partner, right?"

"Yes, he retired years ago," said Arthur as he let her into his office and closed the door behind them. "Well, today he got it into his head to spill his guts. He unloaded all sorts of classified information in a live interview before we could stop him. Now the media has gone into a feeding frenzy. We're still trying to find out exactly what he said and it may be weeks before we know the extent of the damage."

Arthur's office was as cluttered as Trelawney's, but in a totally different way. For one thing, it was chock full of Muggle artifacts. Hermione hadn't seen so many Muggle things in years, even when visiting her parents. And for another thing, his desk and all other available horizontal space was cluttered with ominously official looking papers, wizard-photos, and pieces of scrying and storage equipment. It looked as if she had interrupted a major strategy session or briefing.

"Tea?" asked Arthur, as Hermione sat down. Hermione knew he was very proud of his tea pot, which had been confiscated on a raid back when Arthur was head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department. Arthur had at least as much of a fetish for misused Muggle artifacts as he had for the genuine ones. The tea pot, which resembled an elephant, stood up and walked to a pair of tea cups, pouring some into each with its snout. Arthur beamed happily.

"Thank you," said Hermione as the elephant picked up the cup by its handle and presented it to her.

There was no point in reprimanding Arthur for owning altered Muggle artifacts that were supposed to be illegal, or railing at him about the hypocrisy of keeping what he had confiscated from others by force of law. She'd tried for years and years to no avail and finally given up. Arthur just wasn't going to change.

She still wasn't sure if Arthur was completely clueless about the impropriety of it all, or just glibly pretended to be.

"And how's Ron?" inquired Arthur.

Hermione gritted her teeth. Speaking of cluelessness or pretense at same! Arthur was one of the worst to pooh-pooh her worries about Ron's long absences and probable infidelity.

"Ron's fine," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"Oh, you've talked to him, then?" asked Arthur. "He flooed us last night looking for you. He said you didn't come home."

Now Hermione couldn't help but get a bit upset. Despite herself she blurted, "He should talk! He's only come home two nights out of the last five months. And the first time, it was only for a couple of hours and then he left again. I wouldn't be surprised if he left right after flooing you last night."

"Well, you must understand, he's very busy with his work, Hermione. All of that training and practicing...."

Hermione squeezed her tea cup so hard that the cup, which was shaped like a mouse, let out a muffled sound of distress. "No doubt," she said through her teeth.

"Oh, that reminds me! Molly wanted me to ask if you and Ron would be willing to hold another of your famous Quidditch barbecues next weekend. Fred and George have been wanting to see you again, in fact the entire family would like to come."

"Oh, I don't know about that," began Hermione.

"Ron seemed quite enthusiastic about the idea," Arthur continued. "He said he could definitely make it then and surely you could use a break from work?"

Hermione looked at him in annoyance. He knew perfectly well she had just come off a 3-month vacation. And all of the cooking, cleaning, preparation, and hostessing involved with one of the barbecues was hardly restful in any case. And to ask Ron first, making sure Ron was prepared to make time for that when he couldn't be bothered to come home for normal occasions that was just low, even on the familial manipulation scale.

The Weasley barbecues were an idea Ron had picked up years ago from one of his fellow players, an American by the name of Jimmy "the Bludgerator" Washington. The first one had been a great success, and up until recently they'd happened at the Burrow three or four times a year to the great enjoyment of the extensive Weasley clan and their friends. However, like everything else that used to happen at the Burrow, the barbecues hadn't been happening as often recently. The last one had been over a year ago.

"Well, I'll discuss it with Ron," she said grudgingly. "But I can't make any promises."

"Splendid!" exclaimed Arthur, who seemed confident that the matter was settled.

Hermione set her cup down lest she snap off the mouse's tail. "The reason why I wanted to talk to you, Arthur...."

"Draco Malfoy, yes," said Arthur immediately looking more sober. "I'm very glad you came. That's a serious situation you've gotten yourself into."

Hermione closed her eyes briefly. "I didn't come because I need help, I came because -"

"I don't want to sugar-coat this, Hermione, and I know you can handle the truth," Arthur said intensely. "It might be an unpleasant shock at first but I think you'll thank me afterward."

"The truth about what?" asked Hermione warily.

"About who and what your client Draco Malfoy really is. After you called this afternoon, I took the liberty of gathering some materials together for you to look over. Now most of this is classified, so you can't go repeating any of this or talking about it to anyone."

"If it's classified, don't I need to go through clearance procedures?" asked Hermione.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Arthur. "Heavens, no. You're in enough danger as it is."

"Come again?"

"Malfoy may be out of favor with James Patterson, but he still has plenty of other Ministry contacts," Arthur explained. "He's already checked you out thoroughly, but there's no guarantee he won't keep checking. If he learns you obtained a security clearance _after_ starting to work with him, he might do something drastic!"

_Good grief._ Hermione counted to ten before replying, lest _she_ do something drastic. Unfortunately Arthur used the pause to forge ahead on his own agenda.

"First of all," said Arthur, "there's the question of whether he's actually a Death Eater. Of course he is. Who could really doubt it? Here's our best proof these are old, but they'll hold up in any court."

He spread out some wizard-photos on the desk between them for Hermione to see. The Draco Malfoy in the photos was very young, right around Hogwarts age. He had clearly been stunned or otherwise incapacitated. His eyes were open but too-dilated, moist around the edges, and there was a confused, helpless expression in them. He lay there passively as Auror evidence recordists moved around him, taking the photos.

In one of the photos, his left sleeve had been rolled back to expose a Dark Mark on his forearm -- black, ugly, painful-looking against the childishly tender flesh.

Hermione couldn't say she was particularly surprised. In school she and her friends had thought of Malfoy as a future Death Eater almost from the beginning. Then in Sixth Year he'd actually found a way to let Death Eaters into the school, resulting in the assassination of Headmaster Dumbledore. Hermione had no compelling reason to assume Malfoy hadn't gone on to become a Death Eater himself after that. That it had taken so long to convict his father illustrated how very possible it was for a Death Eater to live a normal-appearing life and go untried for years or even decades.

"I could have guessed that on my own," said Hermione. "But if I have personal opinions about that, it's not very professional of me to make them known on the job - especially if I want to keep that job. As far as Trelawney is concerned, he's just a regular client, and she expects me to treat him as one."

"Yes," said Arthur seriously, "I can understand her reluctance to turn away a client over rumors she has no way of verifying. But Hermione, they _aren't_ just rumors. Once you've seen all the evidence I have to show you, I think you will understand the gravity of the situation. This is far too important to let the traditions and niceties of business get in the way."

Again Hermione found herself grinding her teeth. Arthur wouldn't know professional ethics if they smacked him in the forehead. If being busted for owning a flying automobile while working for Misuse of Muggle Artifacts hadn't opened his eyes for him, nothing would.

This was actually Hermione's biggest beef about her father-in-law. When she was still a kid, and too young to know any better, she'd noticed it about him but hadn't minded because he was the father of her friends. But after several adventures with Ron and their friend Harry Potter, in which people who seemed like friends turned out to be the enemy all along and vise versa, she had become a lot more sophisticated about separating out her own feelings for a person from their actual behavior. She still tended to be more loyal than she ought to, for reasons that had more to do with emotion than logic, but at least she could see people for what they really were. And frankly speaking, though Arthur was a very nice fellow, he was also totally corrupt. Most Ministry officials were like that; it seemed to be a prerequisite for getting far in the institution. But that didn't mean Hermione had to like it.

At any rate, not only was Arthur clueless about (or, perhaps only blithely unconcerned about) business ethics, he was guaranteed to not understand why Hermione and Trelawney thought they were so important. That was going to make this conversation extremely difficult to conduct, at least for Hermione.

"As you know," said Arthur, "Draco Malfoy went into hiding after Dumbledore's assassination. The Aurors were aware that he had become a Death Eater, but there was no evidence that could tie him to any Death Eater crimes. At the time, he was a junior member and his father was imprisoned and in disgrace. He had no standing in the organization and his loyalty had been coerced with threats on his parents' lives as well as his own. Like many Death Eaters in his position he did his best to keep his head down while trying to find a way out of the mess he was in.

"After the war, there were the trials of course, and as everybody knows he was found innocent of war crimes. Now that he was able to lead a public life again, he attempted to restore legitimacy to his family name. He turned to business, amassing an impressive fortune through clever investing. He worked for the Ministry, holding a token position to shore up his public image. There were suspicions that he remained affiliated with the Death Eaters, but no solid evidence."

"What nobody realized was that, during all these years of seeming inactivity during the war and after it, he was actually gaining tremendous experience in tactics and combat, both against Muggles and against us. Recent interrogations have revealed that even before he achieved the rank he holds now in the Death Eaters, he was along for almost all of the raids. That's quite unusual, you know - only some of the Death Eaters go on each raid and it's normally different ones every time.

"And furthermore, though it wasn't so obvious on the surface, Malfoy's corporate interests formed a dangerous pattern. The wizarding aspects of them were ordinary enough, but many of these companies also did business in the Muggle world. It was the Muggles themselves who first alerted the Minister of Magic that he had succeeded in forming a monopoly. Who knows what havoc he might have wreaked on their economy if we hadn't managed to bring about that anti-trust ruling?"

Hermione found it difficult to believe that Malfoy, who thought Muggles little better than animals, would have arranged to build a monopoly of Muggle companies on purpose. It was more likely that the monopoly had come about accidentally and without his knowledge. The wizarding world had no laws of its own against monopoly, nor did it ordinarily enforce the laws of Muggles. Hermione suspected that this was yet another attempt by Arthur and others in the Ministry to weaken Malfoy's position using any means that could remotely be considered official and legal. From what she understood, though Malfoy's people had not allowed the details to become public, the anti-trust ruling _had_ succeeded in weakening his position badly, forcing him to give up most of his income-producing assets in return for cash that was quickly eaten up by expensive divorces.

"Malfoy first started taking on a leadership role in the Death Eaters shortly before his divorce from Pansy Parkinson," Arthur went on. "His loyalty had already been in question because of the threats against his family, and when Pansy went out for Auror training the situation became critical. Malfoy came under pressure to prove his loyalty on penalty of death. He began to take on more dangerous tasks, to lead more of the raids. He worked to develop new tactics and techniques to strengthen the Death Eaters' hand and weaken the Aurors'. While he's never quite managed erase all doubt of his loyalty, he has managed to make himself indispensible to them and that is what has kept him alive all this time.

"You must understand, the Malfoy you see today isn't just any Death Eater. He's the highest-ranked, most well-placed Death Eater out of those who can still show themselves in public. He's also their point man for combat situations. Whether it's a sneak attack on Muggles or a direct clash with our people, Malfoy is the first in, the last out, and he's the one who sends up the skull-and-snake afterward. He takes command during raids and makes executive decisions about which victims die and which are left as witnesses. And he's there for every single raid unless there are two going on simultaneously. The Death Eaters absolutely could not be the threat they are today if it weren't for him."

Arthur picked up a sheet of paper and reached over to hand it to Hermione. "This is a list of the Aurors Malfoy has killed in combat."

Hermione looked at the list. She recognized them all. They'd been killed years ago. She'd known they had died in the line of duty, but had never heard Malfoy connected with their deaths before now. It gave her an odd, hollow feeling.

"All of them were killed around that same time period," said Arthur quietly. "You see, the divorce affected Malfoy badly. In fact he went quite mad, and became convinced that Rudeo Nesbitt, who'd been trying to expose Malfoy's Death Eater involvement for years, had actually persuaded Pansy to want to be an Auror in the first place. He tried to assassinate Nesbitt by allowing himself to be disarmed and captured, then going after Nesbitt with a second wand he'd had concealed on his person. He used a curse the Death Eaters had never revealed to anyone before. Nesbitt managed to avoid harm, but his partner was nearly killed and was forced to retire."

"Nix Johnson," said Hermione. She remembered Nesbitt mentioning Johnson in connection to Malfoy's carrying a spare wand.

Arthur grimaced. "Yes, Nix Johnson. Source of all my headaches," he added in a mutter apparently meant only for his own ears. Then to Hermione again, "It was a particularly grisly curse, and a lot of Aurors looked up to both Nesbitt and Johnson at the time. Draco Malfoy became a target because of what he'd done to Johnson. He killed the first two Aurors in self-defense within three days after Johnson's injury. They both underestimated him badly and he made them pay for it. Malfoy doesn't look like much physically, and there's no denying he's a coward. But when he's cornered, or when he's acting on You-Know-Who's specific orders, he can be extremely dangerous."

Arthur's finger moved down to the third name, Chelsea Lukas. "This one came next, only a couple of days later. She had the misfortune to Apparate onto the scene of a Death Eater raid while Malfoy was still there, and came in nearly on top of him. When she realized who he was she tried to grab him, but he Apparated with her and " Arthur swallowed. "Our moles say he turned up alone on the other end. She's officially missing, but assumed dead."

Hermione winced. Malfoy might have Apparated with her somewhere private to kill her, or he might simply have lost her midway to his destination. The latter wasn't something a person ordinarily learned to do on purpose, more of a ghastly accident such as might befall a mother trying to Apparate with one too many of her children's friends. However, given Malfoy's fetish for Apparition, he probably had practiced doing it on purpose. That poor Auror. Technically it would be a splinching, but likely nothing would ever be found.

Arthur's finger skipped over several other names and stopped at the bottom-most one, Mick Shelville. "All of these Auror deaths happened in the wake of Nix Johnson's injury. The final one was this fellow, another friend of Nesbitt's. The day it was announced that Johnson was going to retire from the force, Shelville donned full battle gear and attacked Malfoy in broad daylight at the Sun Rail Pub. Do you know it? Yachting hangout, used to fly around near the south coast."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Isn't that the place that burned down and crashed? The Muggles had to be told it was a giant meteor."

"Yes, that's actually the public version of the incident I'm talking about. The real details were kept hush-hush even from the wizarding world because it would have been a disaster if the public had found out an Auror caused that mess."

"What happened?" asked Hermione, curious despite herself.

"Well, I can't give you all the details, but the fire was started by a Phoenix Cloak Ward Malfoy was wearing. Mick Shelville died in that fire. So did the Death Eater Malfoy was with when he was attacked, and we almost lost one of our best moles as well."

Hermione frowned. The Phoenix Cloak, while technically a defensive spell, was considered a preemptive weapon because it was extremely destructive of everything around it when set off. Nobody wanted one of those to be set off anywhere near them. Nobody wanted it set off while they were wearing it for that matter. It was extremely expensive magically, and it couldn't be turned off but had to expire instead, taking anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour. A weakened or lesser wizard might be destroyed by his own ward if his strength gave out before the spell did.

So it functioned well to stave off violence of any kind, because it was in nobody's interest for the ward to be tripped, especially indoors. Malfoy had probably told the restaurant's owners he was wearing it, and counted on them to watch his back for him. An Auror could probably get past the restaurant employees, but an Auror should have known about the ward.

"Didn't Shelville know about it?"

Arthur shook his head. "Oh, he knew. He thought he could last long enough to assassinate Malfoy anyway. He didn't care what happened afterward."

Hermione felt sick. "A suicide attack? It took out innocent bystanders! A bunch of other people died, that much was in the news."

Arthur nodded soberly. "So you can see why we couldn't release all the details. It also demonstrates the depth of the hatred some of the senior Aurors had for Malfoy at the time and still do."

"So all of these Aurors on this list were killed in self defense? All because he tried to get revenge on Nesbitt for Pansy wanting to become an Auror?"

"Yes," said Arthur. "Malfoy doesn't normally target wizards and witches except in self defense. In fact - and you _really_ can't tell anyone this - the way we ultimately managed to put a stop to the Auror bloodbath was through a verbal agreement. I wish I could show you the Pensieve of that, but it's in storage and I didn't think of it until now. Basically, our representative showed up, and Malfoy's representative showed up, and they agreed that Malfoy would no longer wear Type IV wards or use Unforgivables or other killing curses on Aurors, and that our Aurors would aim at Malfoy only to disable him, not kill. It's not ideal, I admit, but at least there haven't been any more Aurors dead by his hand."

"How on earth did you enforce an agreement like that?" asked Hermione.

"Well, it was my predecessor, not me," said Arthur. "And it certainly wasn't easy. Several good Aurors had to be put on suspension for violations in the beginning. There were a lot of hard feelings. And there are a lot of ways to accidentally kill someone while trying to disable them - Merlin knows there have been some close calls since then, many of them intentional on the part of the Aurors. If Malfoy didn't use surrogates he'd have been dead ten times since then."

"Surrogates?" Hermione didn't know exactly what Arthur meant by surrogates, but none of the possibilities were very pleasant.

"Ah," he said. "I'll show you." He dug through some of the wizard-photos lying on the desk, and came up with another from the same series as the one that had shown the Dark Mark on the teenaged Draco. In this one, more of his skin was bared, showing a black tattoo of a winged gargoyle at the small of his back. Its eyes glowed, magical orange points of light.

"These - well, there is only the one in this photo, but he has more now - are part of a life bonding ritual known as the Dark Link. Are you familiar with it?"

"A Dark Medicine ritual in which the patient's life is saved by offering up the life of a surrogate patient instead," recited Hermione.

"Yes. In this case, most of the ritual was performed in advance, and the bond preserved through this magical mark. Only when the actual sacrifice was needed - when Malfoy was badly injured - did the surrogate die." Arthur's thick finger touched the tattoo, then traced up the photo-Malfoy's slender spine. "The last time I saw these with my own eyes, there were ten running in a line like this. That would mean nine surrogates had already died in his place."

"Nine?" breathed Hermione. "Arthur, that's awful! Who would these surrogates have been? Muggles?"

"No, I don't think he'd be willing to participate in a blood ritual that involved Muggle blood. They would have been witches and wizards. Perhaps young Death Eater recruits, who agreed to it in exchange for Malfoy's patronage."

"Kids!"

"Young adults, most likely. Foreigners, orphans, loners who might not be missed if they disappeared. Or, the children of Death Eaters who either feared Malfoy too much to refuse it, or who owed him in one way or another."

Hermione felt sick. "Death Eaters' children?"

"Yes, unfortunately so," said Arthur. "It's terribly difficult to reconcile, isn't it? I mean, killing Muggles is bad enough, but at least you can see them rationalizing that Muggles aren't wizard-kind. But this? It's monstrous by any definition."

He picked up a Pensieve lying on his desk and placed it before Hermione. "This recording was made by a Death Eater who turned spy for us several years ago. It's an eyewitness memory of an attack led by Malfoy. It's our most solid piece of evidence tying him directly to a crime scene, although unfortunately it doesn't show him actually committing any crimes. It does show him getting hurt badly enough that it took out his surrogate however. Would you like to see it?"

Hermione hesitated.

"Go on," said Arthur. "You'll need all the information to make an informed decision."

Hermione knew Arthur was giving her a really one-sided story. But he was right. By definition, the more information she had, the better off she'd be. And Hermione was constitutionally incapable of turning down information.

So she looked into the Pensieve, and let it suck her in.

* * *

Darkness, intense heat. It must be summer somewhere. Indoors. Muggle home.

Black cloaked figures flashed past, running. Then, a pair of gunshots rang out and one of the figures dropped.

"Oh, shit," said the witness, the one who'd made the Pensieve. Hermione realized to her shock that she recognized his voice, though she didn't remember from where.

The witness ran back to where the fallen Death Eater lay curled up on his side, anonymous in a white mask and black robes spattered with dark blood. More blood was pooling rapidly on the on the floor beneath. Too rapidly. Feet thundered by on all sides, and curses sizzled past overhead as the witness flung himself to his knees over the body.

"Draco, move your arm, I have to see." With an effort, the witness pried away the elbow enough to feel the area the blood was coming from, then used a knife to slit the heavy black fabric of the robes. Blood slicked everything, and Hermione could see more welling furiously from two bullet holes between the ribs under the Death Eater's arm.

"Bloody hell," swore the witness. He bent over the fallen Death Eater and peered at his back. Two bright points of magical light were shining there between his shoulder blades, tiny and orange and literally smoking. They were from one of those gargoyle tattoos, and were so hot they'd burned right through the robes.

"Oh my God," said the man. "Oh my God, it's too late." He fell back onto his heels.

There came a hissing sound, and then coughing. A Muggle gas cannister bounced across the floor in the background, but the witness didn't take his eyes off the bleeding body before him.

"They're trying to smoke us out!" came shouts.

"The portkey! Damn it, where can it be?"

More sounds of feet scuffling, coughing, and things crashing off shelves and tables.

As the witness watched, the fallen Death Eater stopped breathing. He looked dead. He should have been dead. There had been far too much blood lost. But as Hermione watched, the eyes opened slowly - and they were definitely Malfoy's eyes, an unpleasant shock - and there was agony in them, but rather less fear than she'd expected. He seemed to be concentrating, perhaps on remaining calm.

"We've got the Portkey!" came a shout.

"What are you just sitting there for?" Someone shoved the witness, jostling the view. "We've got to go! Somebody else grab Malfoy!"

"I got him," said another voice. Now the witness was shoved completely aside and black-robed figures surrounded the downed figure.

And the memory ended abruptly, throwing Hermione back out into the real world.

* * *

"My God," she said, shuddering. The office seemed too bright, too cold.

"Sorry," said Arthur. "But I thought you needed to see."

"I know that voice," said Hermione. "The witness, I think I've heard him speak recently."

"You might have," said Arthur. "He's one of Malfoy's closest friends."

_One of the Lucius' crew,_ Hermione realized. It took her a moment to go back through her mind and think of which. It was Blaise Zabini. Zabini was the witness, and the spy.

"He turned because of what happened that night," said Arthur. "The surrogate who died was his own youngest son."

"But why would Malfoy choose his own friend's son as his surrogate?"

"Most likely it wasn't Malfoy's idea at all," said Arthur. "If the Death Eaters doubted Zabini's loyalty, they might have demanded that Zabini offer up the son as a surrogate to prove that loyalty. Ironically, killing off the son galvanized Zabini to turn against them entirely."

Hermione knew that Blaise Zabini had not come from a Dark family and in fact had resisted Death Eater involvement well into the middle of the war. When he did finally join, he was coerced to do so through threats on his family. Like Malfoy, he'd ultimately been proven innocent of war crimes in the trials after the war.

"But why would Malfoy accept Zabini's son? If he's a friend of his, wouldn't he have refused?"

"Firstly, Malfoy goes through so many surrogates he's probably not in a position to turn one down. And secondly, he wouldn't have dared say no, not if he didn't want anybody to doubt _his_ loyalty. As I say, Draco's loyalty is his weak point with the Death Eaters, because of what happened with Lucius Malfoy."

Hermione felt sick.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, it _is_ all rather shocking isn't it? But you'd rather know than be ignorant, wouldn't you?"

"If you have all this proof," asked Hermione, "why haven't you had Malfoy thrown in Azkaban yet?"

"Because we're missing certain key pieces of evidence, and unless he makes some big mistakes, we're probably going to be missing that evidence for a while. Until we have it our only real options are to keep wearing him down until he loses it, or to capitalize on the Death Eaters' paranoia about his loyalty and get them to finish him off themselves. But I'll tell you, Malfoy's losing his Ministry job is a huge break for us."

"It is?" Hermione looked at Arthur in confusion. "You mean, aside from the loss of social status?"

"Oh, yes. Our hands have been tied by not having access to his Apparition records. You see, Mr. Patterson in Supernatural Relations was affording him some very high level protection in that area. Thanks to you, we don't have to worry about that anymore."

"What was Patterson doing to protect him?" exclaimed Hermione in dismay. This was a development she hadn't at all expected.

"Margie Jackson, the head of Apparition Enforcement, used to be Margie Patterson before she married," said Arthur. "She's his sister."

Hermione just stared at him for a moment.

"That's why Malfoy has knocked himself out supporting and helping Patterson all these years," explained Arthur. "Patterson would go and talk to his sister, and Jackson would refuse to enforce the Apparition laws in Malfoy's case. Neither would she release his Apparition records. It's been terribly frustrating - for years now we've known there was enough evidence to take his license, yet couldn't do a thing about it. Now that Patterson and Malfoy are on the rocks, Jackson has agreed to release the records."

Hermione frowned. "You want to take his Apparition license? But why? He won't need it for using someone else's wand to apparate to illegal locations. All you'd be doing is preventing him from going to work and other legitimate activities. That's not really helping society, is it?"

"You've actually _seen_ him Apparate using someone else's wand?" asked Arthur, eyes gleaming.

"Er -" said Hermione. She realized she shouldn't have said that. First of all, she hadn't seen it with her 'own' eyes, but while she was in her Animagus form and there was no way she could admit to that without admitting she was an Animagus, which of course she'd never do. The only incident that had happened in front of actual citizens rather than Aurors was when Malfoy had gone home after his conversation with Trelawney yesterday morning. She could say she'd heard about it from Mrs. Shortwater and the lady whose wand Malfoy had commandeered, but it really wasn't any of Arthur's business. She was _not_ here to tattle on Malfoy. Also, the last thing she needed right now was to get tied up as a witness of some sort. "Well, _I _didn't see it, I uh, heard a rumor," she said lamely.

Arthur looked disappointed. "Well in any case, taking his license would only be the excuse. What we really want to do is legally fit him with a restraining charm for Apparition just like the one he already wears for flying."

"Which would prevent him from Apparating with any wand," Hermione realized. _"And_ identify him, and his location, if he tried it."

"Precisely! If we can tweak up the sensitivity high enough, he'll eventually lead us right to the Death Eater hideouts whether he wants to or not. And in the meantime, his not being able to Apparate would sharply curtail Death Eater raids on Muggles. They depend on Malfoy's Apparating ability as an essential part of their attack strategy," said Arthur, "Because it lets him scout a location seconds before the rest of the team Portkeys in. Without that, they'll be one hundred percent dependent on Portkeys and they'll be much less daring. Not only that, but Malfoy himself will probably no longer be willing to go on raids.

"You see, he depends on his Apparition to get him out of trouble. He's been doing this for a long time and he's not as young as he was. No matter how good the Healers he has access to, the damage has to be adding up. He can't run or dodge as fast as before, he's being hit more often and he's being hit hard. Most Aurors will target him before anyone else if they can, and as you saw he can't always avoid Muggle weapons either. It can't be easy to find willing - or coercible - surrogates now that he's proven he goes through them so quickly. If he loses his ability to Apparate, he'll get himself killed or captured in short order unless he's allowed to take on a less combat-oriented role. Either way, it's a win for us."

"What could he do instead of combat?" asked Hermione, not sure she really wanted to know.

"Well, the other thing Malfoy has done for the Death Eaters over the last ten years is supply badly needed funds. Over 15% of the their operating budget has come directly out of his pockets. Oh, not quite directly they've had to be very creative about how it's done, but they've managed to do it legally so there's nothing we can do to stop it."

Hermione tried to mentally estimate how much that must be. She had no idea where to start - but one thing was for sure, all the evidence now pointed to Malfoy barely having the cash to live on, much less giving much away. "How?" she asked.

"Do you honestly believe a pure-blooded, old school wizard like Malfoy would ever divorce someone willingly? Both the marriages and the divorces have been the result of strictly enforced Death Eater orders," said Arthur. "And each time, it's provided an excuse to inject a large amount of property and funds into the bank account of another Dark family."

"The divorce settlements," Hermione realized.

"Exactly," said Arthur. "And that anti-trust ruling, brilliant though the idea was in terms of forcing a liquidation of Malfoy's income-producing assets, must have been a tremendous windfall for the Death Eaters because he sold each and every one of those companies to suspected Death Eaters or their family members."

"Also because he was ordered to," guessed Hermione.

"Exactly."

"Well, I don't see how he could manage something like that now," said Hermione. "All the evidence points to his being broke. He gave up the last of his cash lending Trelawney's down payment to Batwing."

"Really!" Again Arthur's eyes lit up, and Hermione cursed herself for giving away information. Trelawney would skin her if she ever found out. Trelawney finding out Hermione had visited Arthur at all could get her in a lot of trouble.

"You didn't hear that from me," Hermione muttered.

"I understand," said Arthur. "At any rate, all our informants think he's building up Batwing Alchemical and Pharmaceutical so that he can give that up to Amexia Brandt in a divorce instead of cash."

"Amexia Brandt? I thought that was a joke! He hates her. After what happened last spring...."

"If he's ordered to do so, he wouldn't have any choice short of open defiance."

"I sure haven't seen anything to indicate they've even been ordered to get back together," said Hermione, remembering Malfoy's open shock at Jones' suggestion of it. Then she remembered she was not supposed to have seen any of that. "Er, not that I've had much opportunity to, in the brief time we met."

"That's too bad, I was hoping you could verify that for me," said Arthur. "None of our moles have been able to get anything out of _him_ about his reasons for building up Batwing. As far as we know, he hasn't told a soul."

"I tried to ask, but he got defensive about it," Hermione admitted.

"Oh, I don't think he'd tell you in so many words. You know about the Memoralias Charm, right?"

Hermione was puzzled by the apparent change in topic. "The Memoralias Charm? I've seen it. I wondered how long he'd been wearing it."

"Since his divorce from Pansy Parkinson. About ten years."

Hermione was stunned. _"That_ long? That's that's almost impossible!" Not only would Malfoy be utterly dependent on the charm for his memories, but if something happened to it he'd lose ten years of his life in one go. Maybe more than that, since going over old memories a lot could sometimes cause them to migrate to the charm as well.

"As I say, the Death Eaters required proof that Malfoy was loyal after Pansy went over to the Aurors," explained Arthur. "But Malfoy was Occlumens enough to foil all but the most powerful of pryers. They ordered Malfoy to wear the Memoralias charm so that anybody could pick through the memories when needed to make sure Malfoy hadn't been doing or saying anything disloyal. And it's remained that way ever since."

"But if something happens to that charm, you'll never be able to get a court conviction," said Hermione. "He'd practically be someone else. Remember what happened with Gilderoy Lockheart?"

"I know," said Arthur. "It's a problem. And part of why we're hoping the Death Eaters will solve the whole mess by taking Malfoy out themselves. Anyway, his refusing to discuss his reasons for Batwing probably means the Death Eaters don't want it discussed."

Hermione frowned. The information about the Memoralias charm changed everything. If the charm prevented Malfoy from doing or saying anything disloyal to the Death Eaters, who was to say what his true loyalties were?

In fact, _everything_ Arthur had said and shown her changed everything. She wished she didn't have to meet Malfoy so soon after leaving Aur Central, because her thoughts had been thrown into complete confusion by the evidence.

"Well, whatever his reasons," she said, "it's my job to make it work. And I appreciate all your information, Arthur, and it's certainly been food for thought. But I have a meeting scheduled with Malfoy as it happens. I should get going."

"Batwing at 8PM, yes," said Arthur.

"You know about it?" exclaimed Hermione. "Please don't interfere this time. I'll be lucky if he'll even speak to me at this point."

"Of course we know, Hermione, we've been tracking his every movement - well, every movement we _can_ track - for years now."

"I don't need your protection. I understand what you're saying - he's a Death Eater, he does terrible things - but he's not going to do anything to me while he needs my help, and I need some time to think about this."

"Well, while you're thinking about it, think of your parents," said Arthur. "Your parents fit the profile of Death Eater victims perfectly. By getting involved in this, you're exposing them. Badly. Malfoy is a dangerous criminal, and simply by being around him you're putting yourself and your parents, your family - our family - at terrible risk."

Hermione gathered her broom and briefcase, shaken. "I know," she said. "And I said I'd think about it."

"Ah!" said Arthur. "Before you go." He rose and opened his office door, flagged down a passing clerk. After a few murmured words, the clerk left and Arthur turned back to Hermione. "There were some items taken from Malfoy yesterday. Can I ask you to return them to him?"

Hermione knew Malfoy would be very glad to get his own wand back, and the spare. And doing anything to look better in Malfoy's eyes couldn't hurt her at this point. "Yes," she said.

"There will be forms you'll have to get him to sign them, and then you'll have to bring them back to me at your earliest convenience. Monday morning, perhaps."

Hermione winced. She knew she'd be expected to have an answer as to whether she was prepared to cooperate with Arthur by then.

"All right," she said reluctantly.

Someone tapped on the door, and leaned in carrying a huge evidence bag resembling a Muggle zip-loc bag of unusual proportions. Sure enough, it contained the two wands, the _Lucius'_ ship's log, a Knowitall Ball, and the other items she'd seen taken from the _Lucius._ However, as Arthur handed it to her, a smaller bag fell from behind it. This one contained a second Knowitall, a small one.

"Where did this one come from?" She held up the smaller bag to display the ball.

"Oh, that," said Arthur sheepishly. "I hadn't meant that to be included." He tried to reach for it, but Hermione pulled back.

"But it's his?"

"Yes, Nesbitt lifted it from the table when Malfoy was being searched by Bancroft's people. We haven't had a chance to examine it yet."

Hermione realized it must be the Knowitall Ball with Malfoy's Batwing notes on it, the one he'd tried to give her at the restaurant before he backed down when the Aurors got jumpy.

"Arthur Weasley!" she said furiously, standing up. "You have no right to search this - there was no warrant! It's a blatant violation of his rights! And I can't believe you'd let one department damage another department like that - you know those poor tan-robes will take the blame for its going missing."

"I know," admitted Arthur. "I told Nesbitt as much when I confiscated it from him. Nonetheless -"

"Nonetheless nothing," said Hermione, stuffing the small bag into a pocket of her robes and snatching up the larger one again before Arthur could change his mind about letting her have it. "I'm returning all of these to him tonight, and you should be ashamed of yourself!"

Arthur spread his hands helplessly. "Hermione, you have to understand what we're dealing with here -"

"I understand plenty," she said hotly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a client to meet with."

Arthur sighed, and waved to her goodbye.

Hermione left, still furious.

As long as she was that angry, she wouldn't have to worry about how she was going to face Malfoy.

* * *

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	21. Malfoy Denies Knowledge of Explatteratus

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 21: Malfoy Denies Knowledge of Explatteratus

* * *

**Wizard World News Late Friday Edition -- Page 6  
MALFOY DENIES KNOWLEDGE OF EXPLATTERATUS  
CALLS JOHNSON INCIDENT "TRAGIC ACCIDENT"**

_(The article is crowned by a wizard-photo of Draco Malfoy wearing an extremely uncomplimentary expression of confusion on his ferrety face.)_

Naegle: Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy. I apologize for catching you halfway out the door like this. Do you have time for a few questions?

Malfoy: I was just leaving.

Naegle: This is in regards to Nixon Johnson's accusations today.

Malfoy: [pauses] What?

Naegle: Were you listening to the radio this evening?

Malfoy: No .

Naegle: But you do know who I'm talking about?

Malfoy: The Auror? Special Ops Agent Johnson?

Naegle: Yes. He did an interview with Rita Skeeter on the radio a few hours ago where he accused you of being a Death Eater and being You-Know-Who's right hand man.

Malfoy: What!

Naegle: Mr. Malfoy, did you Explatterate Agent Johnson?

Malfoy: Did I do _what?_

Naegle: Did you cast the Explatteratus on him?

Malfoy: Is that a spell? [stupidly]

_(multiple pops and flashes as Naegle's recording charms preserve the expression for posterity)_

Naegle: Agent Johnson told Rita Skeeter that you blew him to pieces with an Explatteratus Curse. Or I should say, with a curse the Aurors code-named Explatteratus.

Malfoy: Look, I'm very sorry about what happened to Agent Johnson, but I didn't do anything to him. What happened was an accident, pure and simple.

Naegle: So you say you didn't do it?

Malfoy: That is correct.

Naegle: But you were there when it happened.

Malfoy: Yes, I was, and don't ask me to describe it.

Naegle: No, I won't. From what I've heard, the details are not at all pleasant. But could you just give us the basics of how the, ah, accident came about?

Malfoy: [sighs] I'm already very late but fine. They had me up against the wall, or Nesbitt did, anyway. As he came up behind me to search me I went for my spare wand - I'll admit, I was in no condition to think clearly at the time, or I never would have done that - and Johnson pushed Nesbitt out of the way and tried to hit me with a immobilization charm. I cast a simple deflection charm at the same time and there was a bizarre interaction. They've never figured out exactly what happened, but it was catastrophic.

Naegle: A spare wand why would you need something like that?

Malfoy: Call me paranoid.

Naegle: Doesn't it take years of training to use a wand that hasn't chosen you?

Malfoy: I had a lot more time for hobbies back then.

Naegle: Going back to the, er, Explatteratus incident. If they thought you cast it, why weren't you arrested afterward? Why didn't you go to trial for it?

Malfoy: First of all, I was already under arrest, and secondly, it was perfectly obvious at the time that neither of us had done it on purpose. It was a a tragic accident. I don't want to speculate on what sort of state of mind Johnson is in after all these years, but he doesn't seem to be remembering the events the same way the rest of us do.

Naegle: What were you under arrest for?

Malfoy: [coughs] Reckless flying and public drunkenness, not that it's relevant.

Naegle: They sent Aurors for that?

Malfoy: Does seem a bit extreme, doesn't it? But look it up if you don't believe me. It's on the public record.

Naegle: Have you ever been able to reproduce the Explatteratus spell since then?

Malfoy: It wasn't a spell, it was a freak accident. The Aurors have never managed to reproduce it. That would be why it has a code name. If it was a real spell, they would just call it by its real name.

Naegle: They could be trying to protect the public from knowledge of how to cast this dangerous curse.

Malfoy: I don't know about you, but I learned the words to the Unforgivables in my 4th-year DADA class at Hogwarts. If they're trying to protect the public from knowledge of dangerous curses, they're not doing a very good job of it.

Naegle: Are you going to get back at Agent Johnson for this?

Malfoy: For what?

Naegle: For making false accusations in the media.

Malfoy: No. His claims are patently ridiculous. I think the fool he's made of himself is punishment enough.

Naegle: Aur Central has been strictly no-comment on this matter.

Malfoy: I'm not surprised.

Naegle: Mr. Malfoy, what do --

Malfoy: I have to go. I'm late for an important meeting.

Naegle: Is the meeting with Herm --

Malfoy: Good bye.

Naegle: Thank you for the interview, Mr. Malfoy.

_(Photo and interview: Perko Naegle)_

* * *

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	22. I Didn't Want to Know That

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 22: I Didn't Want to Know That

* * *

Malfoy's office looked much different at night. The outer windows, now darkened, no longer dominated the room. Instead it was the narrower strip of inner windows that were brightest, looking out over the still-busy production floor. The panelling of the office walls was more striking too, the lustre of expensive hardwood still gleaming through decades-darkened varnish.

At the moment, the office was entirely unlit save for the inner windows and the fireplace, which had a roaring green fire in it. Malfoy was seated at his desk. It looked like he was fire talking but there was no face visible in the fire.

In her fly form, Hermione buzzed as quietly as she could over to a shelf where she was close enough to have an excellent view of both Malfoy and the fireplace. Even from this angle there was nobody visible in the green flames.

But then a voice issued from them, hissing and genderless, apparently obscured by a simple Voice Hiding Charm.

"Yes, the Explatteratus," said the voice. "Johnson said several of the Death Eaters had learned it, but that you were the only one who still used it, and that you'd gotten a lot better at it. He said that all of the more recent victims that had been found were literally vaporized."

Hermione realized the voice must be talking about Johnson's controversial radio interview.

Malfoy gave a noise that sounded like a short, stressed-out laugh.

"Vaporized," he said. "That's a word for it." He rubbed his face with a hand, then let the hand fall. He was slumped back in his chair and the bottle of Ogden's Extra Special was once again beside him. It looked colorless in the green light.

"Is it true?" inquired the voice.

There was a long silence. Malfoy did not answer. Maybe he was thinking about the incidents the voice described - if, indeed, they had actually happened. His slitted eyes were on nothing in particular. His fingers idly traced the twisted silvery strands of the restraining charm on his left wrist.

"You shouldn't touch that," said the voice.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed more. "How did - ?"

"Don't worry, I can't see you," said the voice. "But when you touch it, it shows up on the dial here as a tamper attempt."

And from that, Hermione knew that the person on the other end of the Floo must be either an Aur Central worker or employed by the Department of Magical Transportation. Someone who was physically in the same place as the controls for the restraining charm in any case.

Malfoy removed his hand from the charm and straightened up, reached for the bottle of Extra Special. He filled his shot glass, the clink of bottle-on-glass clearly audible in the still air.

"You shouldn't drink so much either," said the voice. "For a lot of reasons."

"I know," said Malfoy.

"You didn't make it to your S.P.E.W. meeting tonight," said the voice. "Why?"

"I overslept," said Malfoy. He brought the glass to his lips and swallowed the shot, then leaned back in his chair again with the empty glass in his hand. His eyes were closed again. "I slept nearly six hours today. I haven't had that much sleep at one time in a year."

"Sloppy," said the voice.

There was a brief silence.

"No," said Malfoy eventually. "No, that's how I'm going to do it from now on. I'm starting to lose it. I can't go on the way I have been, only two or three hours of sleep at a time. When it's reached the point where I have to refer to the bloody Memoralias charm to remember how I began a sentence, I need to start getting more rest."

"How?" whispered the voice. A pause, and then: "Time turner?"

There was a long silence. It grew longer and longer.

"Risky," said the voice when Malfoy did not answer.

Malfoy didn't answer that either.

"You're determined to go ahead with your Batwing plan then?" inquired the voice. "You'll be there all the time now?"

"Yes," said Malfoy.

"Also risky."

"Also none of your business," said Malfoy.

"True. How are you going to handle Weasley?"

Malfoy let his head fall back. Hermione could see the pale line of his throat stretched out, the glint of his eyes as he searched the ceiling.

"I have no idea," he said.

"Maybe Explatterate her?" asked the voice, slyly.

Malfoy snorted. "Yes, that would an intelligent move, wouldn't it?" He grasped the arm of the chair and pulled himself upright again. "Look, if you can't tell me when they're going to be raiding my house, then I have to go. I have meetings."

"Soon," said the voice. "They've moved it up."

"I know, soon," said Malfoy. "I know they've moved it up. _How_ soon?"

There was a long silence.

Malfoy picked up the bottle and filled his glass again during the silence. He was leaning on his desk, his head bowed. As the silence kept growing longer, he lifted his head long enough to drink his shot. Hermione could hear him swallow.

"Do you trust her?" asked the voice, at last, as if Malfoy had never raised the question of the raid.

"Maybe," said Malfoy.

"She's a Weasley," said the voice.

"By marriage."

"Even so."

Malfoy said nothing to that.

"Do you still want to know when the raid will be?" whispered the voice.

"Yes," said Malfoy.

"Ask her. She's coming from here. She just left."

And then the green fire abruptly snuffed itself.

The room was plunged into semi-darkness.

* * *

_She's coming from here. She just left._

So Malfoy had a contact within the Aur Central offices. Someone with access to the controls of the restraint charm. This was something Arthur would want, would _need_ to know. It meant that Malfoy might be able to get away with flying under certain circumstances. And maybe would be able to circumvent the Apparition restraint if the Aurors ended up implementing that too.

If everything they said about Malfoy was true, innocent Muggles could die because Arthur didn't know this. _Would_ die because Arthur didn't know this.

Hermione felt ill. She had learned too much. She would have been better off not knowing any of this, but because of her compulsion to spy she was now faced with a very tough decision.

How much could her oath as an employee mean, if people's lives were directly at stake?

As she slipped unseen from the office, the thought of having to actually meet with Malfoy in a few minutes was almost unbearable.

* * *

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	23. May Combust in the Presence of Heat

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 23: May Combust in the Presence of Heat

* * *

The mustard-yellow waiting room outside of Malfoy's office was as much of a zoo as the Aur Central lobby had been. Poopsie was jumping up and down screeching, there was a witch sobbing in the corner (Hermione recognized her as the one whose wand Malfoy had commandeered the day before) and to top it off, there were two blustering Aurors trying to get past Poopsie into the inner office.

As Hermione edged into the crowded little room clutching her broomstick, briefcase, and the two evidence bags, she stared at the two Aurors with interest. She recognized their uniforms, but only because she knew a lot about Aurors and their organization. She'd certainly never expected to see people from their particular department face to face.

* * *

Aurors or hit-wizards had once been an elite force, used to hunt down and destroy Dark wizards one-on-one and with devastating skill. But during the long war that had led to Lord Voldemort's eighth and possibly final defeat at the hands of Harry Potter, the ranks of the Aurors had grown to several thousand, many of them hastily trained and packed off to battle still wet behind the ears. Though these "ickle Aurors" were a joke compared to the originals, their sheer numbers allowed the part of the Ministry then known as the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to swell in both power and influence until it almost overwhelmed the rest of the Ministry.

During the war, near-martial law had seemed a comfort to those who feared Voldemort's dark armies, but afterward there was a backlash against the tremendous power the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had come to hold. Many called for reforms, fearing unfair hunts and imprisonments such as had followed the first war.

A decision was made to dismantle the bloated Department of Magical Law Enforcement in favor of a less centralized approach. Each department of the Ministry would have its own Aurors drawn from the oversupply of young Aurors who'd survived the war. These lesser Aurors would then be authorized to act only in their own specialized jurisdictions, preventing too much power from being centered in one place. And the core of the Aurors' strength -- the elite force that had once been the terror of the Dark Wizarding world -- would be split down the center. The hit-wizards would become Auror Special Operations, and the covert operatives become Auror Covert Operations.

The Department of Auror Affairs was created and charged with carrying out the redistribution of personnel and then continuing to oversee the activities of the resulting splinter departments on an ongoing basis.

As far as the wizarding public was concerned, that solved the problem completely. With the bulk of the "ickle" Aurors scattered hither and yon, and the most powerful Aurors split into two different departments with two different directors and two different agendas, it was not possible for fear of Aurors to dominate a peacetime wizarding world.

Many of the oldest Aurors were livid over the division. Since then, they had done their worst to prove that those Ministers who had helped make the reforms happen were, themselves, Dark Wizards. It was an ugly business, though fortunately mostly hidden from public view. Hermione had heard quite a lot about it from Arthur and from family friends.

One of the side effects of the restructurings was that there were now Aurors - loosely termed - in many different departments, some of them so obscure most people weren't even aware that they existed. Until, of course, they ran afoul of them.

One of those little known departments was the tiny Bureau of Unique and Magical Menageries Enforcement and Rescue. The two Aurors who comprised that department had no job other than to look into allegations of criminal abuse or neglect of magical animals. Acting on tips provided by various shelters, activist groups and concerned individuals, they had the power to arrest and charge those guilty of committing crimes related to magical pets as well as work animals, zoo specimens, and illegally held wild species.

Hermione had to wonder why those two particular Aurors - "ickle" Aurors if there ever were any - were trying to get inside Malfoy's office.

* * *

A few minutes after Hermione arrived and sat down, the clamoring voices silenced suddenly. She looked up from the Knowitall she was working on and saw that Malfoy had appeared in the doorway, hand braced tensely on the frame. His pale eyes darted to Hermione's, then down to the Aur Central evidence bags she had with her. Then he stared suspiciously to the two Aurors. Finally he turned his attention to the wandless witch in the corner.

"Who are you?" His voice almost too-quiet after the hubbub of before.

"Gina White," said the witch tearfully. "You have my wand?"

Malfoy hesitated, and Hermione wondered if he'd had to consult the Memoralias charm to verify the claim. People had forgotten more after drinking less than Malfoy had that day.

"Ah," he said sourly. "You'll have to wait."

"But - "

"And you?" Malfoy demanded of the Aurors.

"I'm Officer Bendover," said the male, "and my partner here is Officer Bangor." He indicated the female Auror. "We're technically with the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but we've been permanently assigned to the Bureau of Unique and Magical Menageries Enforcement and Rescue."

Malfoy's nostrils flared. "Bendover and Bangor from the department of B.U.M.M.E.R?" he exclaimed indignantly. "Is this a joke?"

"Nobody is playing a prank on you Mr. Malfoy," said Bendover seriously. "You can check with Central Authority if you wish, and you'll find we are quite legitimate. Our department assists entities such as the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Magical Animals with enforcing the relevant laws."

"What relevant laws?" asked Malfoy suspiciously. "No forget it. I don't have time do deal with this right now. Weasley, come with me. Poopsie, call Blitzkrieg & Ramhomme and tell them I need someone here as soon as possible."

Poopsie clapped a palm to her cheek in an expression of sincerest dismay. "Yes, Master Draco," she said unhappily. "Poopsie call them right away."

* * *

Blitzkrieg & Ramhomme Attorneys At Wizarding Law were high powered lawyers with a reputation for ruthlessness and being "color blind" vis-a-vis a client's allegiance to Dark or Light. Hermione wasn't at all surprised to hear Malfoy retained them. He fit the profile of their typical client perfectly: rich, pureblooded, and with severe legal difficulties. Hermione rather expected Poopsie's stricken expression had to do with the sort of reception Freed-elves usually encountered when contacting the firm.

* * *

Apparently the mention of lawyers didn't scare Bendover and Bangor at all, because as Hermione moved to follow Malfoy into his office, the two Aurors barged in after them.

"Mr. Malfoy, a word," said Bendover.

Malfoy spun defensively to face them, and Hermione stopped right where she was, unsure of what to do.

"I realize you are a very busy man," said Bendover, "but we've come on a matter of great importance."

"Is this your owl?" asked Bangor. She moved over to the conference table, visually inspecting Malfoy's giant eagle owl, which was standing on top of its cage on the table. Bendover followed.

"Yes," said Malfoy, backing away as they came farther forward. "What's this all about?"

"You don't mind if we take a look at him, do you?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Do you use this owl for fighting other owls?"

"No."

"Sir, are you aware that owl fighting is illegal in England, Scotland and most of Europe?"

"Yes," said Malfoy. "But -"

"These eagle-owls have been known to attack other owls even in the wild. Many times wizards own them because they want a tough owl that will fight and is big enough to injure most other types of owls," said Bendover.

Malfoy was beginning to look seriously annoyed. "I happen to like the breed. Is that a crime now?"

"Sir, we've received a complaint that your owl attacked two post-owls belonging to the Daily Prophet newspaper. That's why we're here."

Bangor poked at the owl's feathers with her wand, revealing dried scabs underneath. "These look like fighting wounds to me, sir."

Malfoy blanched. "How did -"

"Can you explain how this happened?"

"No," began Malfoy. "But -"

"I'm sorry, but we can't allow an owl known to be vicious and aggressive remain at large," said Officer Bendover.

"Now wait just a minute," began Malfoy, but he was too late. Officer Bendover pulled out his wand and stunned the owl. The owl's feet loosened and it toppled over. Bangor caught it before it could hit the table.

Malfoy looked as if he had just been stunned himself. After a couple of abortive attempts, he finally managed to say: "You had better have a warrant for this."

"Oh yes," said Officer Bendover. He dug a piece of paper out of his pocket and peeled off the copy stuck to it. "This is for you," he said, handing it to Malfoy. Hermione noticed Bendover hadn't put his wand away; perhaps people sometimes got violent when their pets were confiscated.

Malfoy took the warrant and read it. Instantly he was furious. "Willful neglect? Excessive confinement? Unlawful ownership of a dangerous bird? This is preposterous!"

The difference between a confused, irritated, off-balance Malfoy and an outraged Malfoy was pretty impressive. The two officers edged back, and Bangor got her wand out too.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Officer Bendover, "please calm down. We do have the power to arrest you if it becomes necessary."

Malfoy did not appear to be calming down at all. In fact he appeared angry enough to spit poison. "I donate twenty thousand galleons a year to the SPCMA!"

"That's very generous of you Mr. Malfoy, but the fact remains that this owl's water hasn't been changed and his cage obviously requires cleaning. He's been in at least one fight and you claim you didn't even realize he was injured though it happened at least 48 hours ago. How long were you going to wait before you looked after the welfare of your bird?"

"I'll have you know Ginger is very well cared for," said Malfoy.

"Well if we had come and found the claims weren't substantiated, we might have been able to leave Ginger here, but as it is -" began Bendover.

Malfoy growled. "Poopsie!" he yelled.

The Freed elf appeared with a BANG, causing both Aurors to jump.

"Yes Master, what is -" began the elf.

Malfoy grabbed Poopsie by the collar.

"Who is supposed to be in charge of keeping this cage clean?" he demanded in a low, furious voice.

Poopsie's eyes rolled nervously and her ears drooped. "Ginger's cage is Sticky's job, Master," she said.

"Well then," he said, silken and deadly, "tell Sticky to get over here and clean it. And the next time he embarrasses me like this, he's going to find himself cleaning toilets for some charity organization for ten knuts a day, is that understood?"

"Oh no, not clothes!" wailed Poopsie. "Not clothes for Sticky!"

"Just tell him," said Malfoy tightly, pushing her away.

"Yes Master," said Poopsie miserably. She vanished with a second BANG.

Both Aurors' expressions had changed from neutral to hostile during Malfoy's interaction with the Freed elf. Hermione wasn't too happy with him either, for that matter. There was no excuse for abusing house-elves. If that's how he treated even the Freed Poopsie, who could defend herself, imagine what he did to the poor enslaved ones at his Manor! And after that little display, one really did have to wonder how he treated his owl.

"The Daily Prophet didn't complain about my owl's cage," said Malfoy. "Who did?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy," said Bendover frostily, "but we aren't at liberty to -"

"The person would have to be here, wouldn't they?" demanded Malfoy. "They'd have to claim they witnessed - " His eyes narrowed. "It's _Nesbitt,_ isn't it!"

"We can neither confirm nor -" began Bendover, but apparently this revelation had snapped what little restraint Malfoy had left. He stamped his foot like the spoiled child he had once been.

"That bastard couldn't care less about my owl," he snarled, "he's just trying to make trouble for me! This is harassment, pure and simple!"

"Now, Mr. Malfoy," began Bendover.

"I'm sick of it!" Malfoy yelled. "As a matter of fact I'm done with it. I refuse to put up with this anymore."

"Now just -" Bendover began again, but Malfoy grabbed the bowl of owl tips from his desk and hurled it straight at the Auror's head. Bendover was forced to abandon all pride and leap out of the way. The bowl struck the wall hard, exploding into shards and hundreds of loose Sickles.

"Oh my God," said Bangor, backing away.

Bendover leveled his wand at Malfoy. _"Petrif -" _

Even before he'd finished the spell, Malfoy had drawn his own wand with lightning speed. _"Erratus!"_ he yelled. Bendover's curse misfired and he fumbled his wand and dropped it.

"Don't even start with me," hissed Malfoy. "I'm way out of your league."

As he started toward Bendover, the Auror stooped and snatched up his wand, backing away. He looked pale. "Bangor, go," said the Auror tensely.

Bangor scurried toward the fireplace, still carrying Malfoy's giant eagle owl in her arms. Malfoy's pale eyes darted after her, but Bendover succeeded in bringing his attention back to himself by lifting his wand again.

Hermione never knew what spell he tried to cast that time - a calming charm might not have been a bad idea - but before even the first syllable was out, Malfoy reacted.

_"Exstinguate!"_

And the spell died unborn. Bendover backed farther away and Malfoy kept coming, his pale eyes gleaming.

"Tell me how it was done," said Malfoy. "Was it done through the SPCMA? Who is his contact there?"

"I can't tell you that," said Bendover as he backed farther around the conference table.

There was a flare of green light from the other end of the room as Bangor made her escape via floo.

Malfoy hooked his fingers into the owl cage as he passed it, and hurled it to the floor with a crash that made Bendover jump and stumble backward faster. Owl feathers and dust went everywhere.

"Yes you can," said Malfoy as kicked the cage's carcass aside and kept coming. "And you will." He was so focused on Bendover that he didn't even seem to notice Hermione, though he passed so near her that she could feel the heat coming off him, hear him breathing hard.

It was about this time that it really struck home with Hermione that she was not spying and she was not in the tiny obscure body of a fly. She was life size, in person, and standing right in the line of fire. She pressed herself back beside a pillar protruding from the wall, trying to present as small a target as possible as the stressed-out looking Bendover tried to curse Malfoy again.

_"Stupef-"_

_"Deflecto!"_ Malfoy yelled immediately, and Bendover's curse bounced off him and hit one of the towering outer windows instead, shattering it. Both Bendover and Malfoy cringed as a tremendous quantity of broken glass crashed to the floor below. Hermione flinched and almost cried out as she was hit by several flying shards.

_If I live through this,_ she vowed, _I promise I will never, ever feel guilty about being in fly form again._

Bendover looked as shaken as Hermione felt. Malfoy recovered more quickly and began to advance on the Auror again.

"I think I've been quite reasonable about this," said Malfoy, "especially considering I am not really armed. But if you curse me again I am going to make you regret it. Do you understand?"

Far from understanding, Bendover looked confused. "Not really armed? What -" There was a pause. "Wait a minute," said Bendover. "That's a student wand you're using!"

It was true; now that the Auror had drawn attention to it, Hermione could see that it was an ordinary student wand still bearing an Ollivander's crest. A wand like that would be unable to withstand the kind of power an adult could put into a curse. Even the defensive spells Malfoy had cast already were probably near the limits of what it could handle. Too much more abuse, and it would simply burn up like a bit of tinder. Needless to say it wouldn't last a minute in a serious duel.

Hermione suspected it was his son's wand. He would have had access to it all summer every summer for four or five years now. By practicing diligently he could have become proficient enough at using it to perform simple spells like those defensive ones. And with Salazar temporarily out of school, the wand was available for borrowing.

"Yes, it is a student wand," sneered Malfoy. "And it's a sad testament to what Aurors have become that I was able to chase you around the room with it."

Bendover's jaw tightened, and he raised his own wand again. Malfoy dropped the student-wand and drew Gina White's oaken wand from the vee of his robes instead.

All right. Now Bendover was really in trouble.

Malfoy's ability to Apparate with nearly any wand was an impressive trick, but that was probably all it was - a sideshow stunt, a lot of obsessive practice put toward a very narrowly specialized skill. That skill was not likely to translate to any other kind of spell. There was a reason why he hadn't tried to stop Nesbitt and Benkmann from searching his yacht using magic - if he tried to curse someone using a stranger's wand, the same wild side effects would happen to him as happened to anyone else desperate enough to try such a thing.

However, right at the moment Malfoy looked ready to give it a shot anyway. And nobody, but nobody wanted to be on the wrong end of an experimental wand attack. Or an experimental wand defense for that matter.

"Look," said Bendover shakily. "That isn't your wand either, is it? You're not going to be able to do anything to me with that."

"Try me," snarled Malfoy.

Bendover gulped. "All right. Let's think about this logically, here. You don't know what will happen if you try to use that. You wouldn't want to be responsible for a death, would you?"

"Can you hear yourself?" demanded Malfoy in disbelief. "Are you as naïve as you sound?"

"Just calm down," said Bendover. "Nobody needs to curse anybody."

"A little late to think of that," said Malfoy. "Since you already tried to curse me three times."

"You became violent," said Bendover. "It was necessary to defend myself and my partner."

Malfoy swelled up in indignation. "You kidnapped my owl, accused me of animal abuse and -"

"OK just hold on a minute," said Bendover. Hermione realized he was now edging toward Malfoy, rather than away. She wondered if he was going to try to disarm him physically. "I understand you're upset, and believe it or not, I can even understand why. You're not the first person to lose it when we come to take their pet. Actually it happens more often than you'd think. It's an upsetting experience, and not one most people are equipped to deal with. Especially when it comes as a surprise."

"This isn't about my owl," said Malfoy. "It's about Rudeo Nesbitt and his vendetta against my family."

But he sounded somewhat less angry than before, more resentful. Bendover was close enough now that he appeared to loom over him. Hermione realized that Malfoy was responding to the physical domination without even being aware of it.

"You may be right," said Bendover. He spoke in a calm, positive voice. Hermione wondered if he'd been trained in de-escalation or something. It wasn't an area she had any knowledge of. "I'm not going to deny it because I don't know anything about it," Bendover continued. "Maybe someone did have some ulterior motive for reporting you. I don't know. But I'm not going to curse you again, all right? So don't worry."

"You couldn't if you tried," said Malfoy. The tip of his wand jerked a bit, nearly tapping Bendover's chest.

"Just try to calm down," said Bendover. He took a final step closer, and put a hand on Malfoy's wand shoulder. Malfoy flinched at the touch, but didn't pull away. "Put the wand down," said Bendover. "You don't need it for anything. As long as you remain calm, I'm not even going to try to do anything to you."

Malfoy looked as if he'd rather eat glass, but he finally, grudgingly lowered his wand.

"Good," said Bendover soothingly. He shifted his hand down to Malfoy's bicep. "Why don't you come over here and sit down and try to relax," he said. "We can talk things out, and keep things civilized." He turned Malfoy toward the desk.

"Ow, easy," said Malfoy, scowling.

"I'm barely touching you," said Bendover patiently. And it was true; Hermione could see he wasn't forcing Malfoy in any way. "Come on."

Hermione was amazed that Malfoy had allowed Bendover to touch him at all. She was even more amazed when, after a reluctant pause, Malfoy allowed the Auror to guide him back to his chair and sit him down.

Once seated, Malfoy put his elbows on his desk and dropped his head into his hands in apparent defeat. Gina White's wand was still curled loosely in the fingers of his left hand. Bendover resisted what must have been a powerful temptation to try to take it from him, and instead patted Malfoy's back reassuringly.

"I know it's very painful to lose a pet," the Auror began.

"Don't patronize me," gritted Malfoy, without moving from his position.

Bendover sighed. "Look," he said. "You can come down to the SPCMA and talk to them. They realize that sometimes there are circumstances that make it difficult to care for an animal properly no matter how much you might want to. Sometimes if the animal has been placed in a shelter or foster home, you can get it back later by proving you have managed to clean up your act and that the temporary hardship has passed."

"My 'hardship' isn't going to pass until this harassment ends," said Malfoy. "And at this rate, the harassment isn't going to end until I'm dead or wrongfully convicted."

"Maybe you're better off not having a pet at all then," said Bendover.

"Is that all you think about? Pets?"

"Yes," said Bendover. "It is my job after all."

He gave Malfoy's back a final pat, then turned his attention to Hermione. It was a bit of a surprise - she'd almost forgotten she was really there.

"Are you all right, Ma'am?"

"Just a few cuts," said Hermione. "I think I need to sit down." Her knees were all rubbery from release from adrenaline. She walked unsteadily to one of the chairs in front of Malfoy's desk and sank into it. "This is a lot more excitement than I'm used to," she admitted.

"For all of us, I think," said Bendover. "Ah, speaking of which, I'd better nip back in at the SPCMA and let Bangor know everything is all right. She's fresh out of school and tends to be a bit impulsive. There have already been several incidents."

Malfoy lifted his head and turned to watch as Bendover went over to the fireplace and threw a packet of floo powder into it. Green fire flared up.

"Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Magical Animals, Main Office," said Bendover. But instead of entering the floo right away, he turned back toward Malfoy and Hermione. "You know -" he began.

And a huge belch of green fire flared out of the fireplace behind him.

In the next instant, Officer Bangor plowed into the room, wand at the ready. She nearly bowled Bendover over as she ran forward a couple of steps and then aimed at Malfoy.

_"Stupe-"_

Malfoy's eyes widened and he dove out of his chair onto the floor before she had finished the curse. The curse hit the chair and smacked it violently backward, ramming it into the base of the liquor cabinet. Malfoy hit the floor rolling and came up with Gina White's wand pointed directly at Bendover who was still standing horrified in front of the waiting outgoing floo.

_"Expelliarmus!"_ The unfamiliar wand bucked in Malfoy's hand. There was a tremendous flash of red and violet light and the nugget of the curse slammed Bendover dead on, trailing streamers of fire. Bendover's wand shot toward Malfoy and Bendover himself was bowled backward into the floo and vanished with a bright flash and a shower of whistling sparks.

Even before the sparks had died, Malfoy was gone. Disapparated, Hermione assumed.

"Jesus," squeaked Bangor. "What the devil was that?"

Hermione wasn't entirely sure. Even Malfoy couldn't have foreseen exactly how his Expelliarmus would have been mangled by his using White's wand. One thing was for certain, though: the SPCMA's main offices had just been visited by a flaming wandless Auror travelling backward at extreme velocity.

This was never a good thing.

As Hermione opened her mouth to answer, Malfoy silently re-Apparated directly behind Bangor.

Hermione's mouth fell the rest of the way open as Malfoy lunged at the Auror and tackled her in a headlock. Hermione was taken aback by the suddenness and violence of the action. Bangor had the typical sturdy build that most witches in law enforcement sported and probably outweighed Malfoy, but they were matched in height and he'd clearly taken the advantage with the surprise attack.

The Auror's wand clattered to the floor as he dragged her staggering backward, Gina White's wand's tip pressed into her back. Their panting rang out harshly into the air of the office.

"Listen, you simpering blue-robed rubbish," he hissed into the Auror's ear. "I know Nesbitt is behind this travesty of justice and I want you to bring him a message from me."

"I I " choked Bangor. Her fingers struggled to pry his arm from around her neck. He clung viciously, refusing to give in despite the obvious effort it took to keep his hold.

"You tell that smug bastard," Malfoy continued, "that the day he finds the balls to face me one on one in a real duel, when I'm _not _unconscious, drunk, wandless, or suffering the aftereffects of a severe electrical shock, is the day that I will wipe the world clean of him once and for all. Do you understand?"

Bangor nodded frantically.

"And as for you," (here Malfoy's mouth twisted into an unpleasant sneer) "I have enough problems in my real life without being Bendovered and Bangored during my off hours. If I ever see the pair of you on my property again I will personally turn you into toads and have you sent over to Building E, Amphibian Butchery for parting out. Is that understood?"

Bangor nodded again.

"Good," said Malfoy. _"Accio!"_ A packet of floo powder jumped up to his wand hand from one of her pockets. "Old Mill Ruins, Haverford Swamp," he said, throwing the powder into the fire.

"Wait a minute," gasped Officer Bangor. "Havorford Swamp, that's a hundred kilometers from nowhere! You can't send me th--aaaggghhh!!!" At which point she vanished headfirst into the floo after a firm shove from Malfoy.

"Yes, actually, I can," he gasped. He was panting like a blown racehorse.

He rammed Gina White's wand back into a sleek combat sheath laced tightly to his right forearm, then stumbled to his desk and braced a hip against it, head bowed, struggling to regain his breath. His right hand was gripping his left shoulder hard.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked. She had remained frozen in her chair the entire time, and had had a perfect view of everything that had happened. And a perfect view of Malfoy grimacing horribly now.

"If I wasn't all right," he said through his teeth, "would I tell you?"

"You look like you're in pain," she said.

"Remind me to thank Trelawney for sending along such an astute observer," he snarled.

"Sorry," said Hermione.

She remembered Arthur saying that despite having access to the best Medi-wizards, Malfoy was accumulating irreparable damage due to being injured in combat so many times. She also remembered how stiff he'd been after being manhandled by Nesbitt the other day, and how he'd protested when Poopsie had pulled on his left arm. He'd even complained when Bendover only touched it. It seemed fair to bet that at least one of those injuries was to that left arm or shoulder. She also wondered about the gunshot wounds she'd seen him suffer in the Pensieve. The kind of wounds that could kill instantly like that weren't easily healed up even by accomplished medi-Wizards. Who knew what condition he was in internally?

His gray eyes darted up and caught her staring. He looked away immediately, scowling harder.

"How much," he panted, "do you want to be paid for your silence?"

"About the shape you're in, or about your attacking those two Aurors? I don't think that last is going to be anybody's secret for long," said Hermione.

Malfoy made an impatient hiss. "It was self defense," he said. "I don't care who knows about that. I meant the other."

"You don't have to pay me," said Hermione.

"I don't expect you to protect my secrets out of the goodness of your heart," he growled. "Not with Arthur Weasley hanging on your other ear asking for information. Tell me how much."

Hermione winced. It wasn't just that it felt wrong to accept money for something like that. She hadn't yet decided whether to tell Arthur what she knew. If she accepted Malfoy's money then she would be burning a bridge she did not want to burn.

She watched as Malfoy gingerly used the fingers of his left hand to tug his sleeve back down over the combat sheath on his other arm. Because of its placement it was easy to think Malfoy's primary wand lived in an ordinary wand pocket in his robe sleeve instead. She wondered how many other people the hidden sheath had fooled.

"Look," she said, tearing her eyes away from that. "I'd be more than satisfied if we can just finish our meeting instead."

"No chance," said Malfoy. "At least not tonight. As soon as one of those B.U.M.M.E.R. imbeciles goes crying to Special Ops, Nesbitt and his little buddy are going to be all over us like-"

**POP! POP!**

As if on cue, there was a loud double-pop and Rudeo Nesbitt and his new partner Benkmann Apparated into the other end of the room and started pelting straight toward Hermione and Malfoy. A curse sizzled over Hermione's head and smashed into the bookshelves behind the desk. She realized with a shock that Nesbitt had been aiming for Malfoy and that because of where she was sitting she was once again directly in the way.

All hints of physical disrepair vanished, Malfoy lunged spectacularly over his desk, drawing Gina White's wand. Hermione leaped up too, hoping to prevent him from cursing the Aurors back. With a wild grab of her free hand she managed to seize his wand arm by the wrist, throwing him off balance and herself tumbling after.

In that moment she was struck by three sudden thoughts.

The first was, _I just did something incredibly stupid and I don't even know why I did it._

The second was to notice how thin his forearm was, and how the fluid interplay of bones and muscles against her palm reminded her incongruously of their fleeting handshake the day before.

The third was _oh no, he wasn't casting a curse, he was Disapparating._

And then the world squeezed sickeningly in around them.

* * *

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	24. A Flurry of Wings

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 24: A Flurry of Wings

* * *

_Mr. Duncan,_

_ This is an emergency! Please send reinforcement for the B.U.M.M.E.R. squad on the scene at Batwing Alchemical and Pharmaceutical. We have one Auror down and one missing. Situation critical._

_ Betty-Francine Dogwater  
Director, Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Magical Animals_

_

* * *

_

_ Rudy,_

_ Drop what you're doing and head over to Batwing immediately. The Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures apparently tried to take on Malfoy with less than pleasant results. We're looking at one missing Auror and one injured, both from the department of B.U.M.M.E.R. I'll be sending along some backup for you as well. Get the situation under control then let me know what happened. Thanks._

_ Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_ Mrs. Dogwater,_

_ I have dispatched a crack advance-team and four backup teams to Batwing to deal with the problem. Will update you as I find out more._

_ Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Auror Special Operations_

_

* * *

_

_ Daschel,_

_ Bad news. Just as we arrived, Malfoy Apparated somewhere taking Hermione Weasley with him. Get me that destination ASAP!_

_ The office is a wreck. There's a broken window, debris all over the floor, and three wands lying about (enclosed please return IDs ASAP). No sign of the missing B.U.M.M.E.R. Auror. We're going to check around here for a bit then head over to the SPCMA. I'm told the injured Auror is there. He might have some more information we can use. Keep me posted if you find anything out on your end._

_ Rudeo Nesbitt  
Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_ Rudy,_

_ I just had Jackson re-send the tail end of Malfoy's Apparition records and it shows no further Apparitions on his part since you confiscated his wands yesterday. Either he's using someone else's wand to Apparate - and we still have no solid proof he can actually do that - or that Jackson witch is jerking me around. Damn it, I thought we had her on board!_

_ Regarding the three wands you sent over, we have identified them as belonging to B.U.M.M.E.R. Auror Beretta Sue Bangor, B.U.M.M.E.R. Auror Charles Bendover Jr., and Salazar Lucius Malfoy. I have enclosed the transcripts of the Priors we performed on them._

_ See what you can do on your end and we'll keep working on this. I'm afraid it's not looking good for Mrs. Weasley at this point - it's going to take quite a while to locate her if we can't trust the Apparition records. I only hope that Mole #1 is correct and Malfoy needs her too badly to harm her seriously._

_ Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_ Daschel,_

_ Hold everything! You may owe Jackson an apology. Malfoy's definitely not using his own wand. We got a hold of one of his house-elves and questioned her, and it turns out he hadn't signed the paperwork and gotten his wands back from Weasley yet at the time all this happened. In fact, I think I saw her carrying the evidence bags just as she disappeared. I'll have to check back when I get a chance._

_ Also, we found a woman out in the waiting area who says Malfoy took her wand sometime yesterday and has been using it to Apparate with. Tell Apparition Enforcement to run the search on Gina White instead. Get a 24 hour record. If she's telling the truth, and is willing to testify, we finally have the proof that he can and does Apparate using other people's wands. That makes it a sure bet we'll get approval for the new restraint charm once his license is revoked._

_ We're done here. I'm leaving two alarm wards and two backup teams in case he turns up again. Heading over to the SPCMA now._

_ Rudeo Nesbitt  
Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_ Rudy,_

_ You're not going to believe this, but Jackson just sent us Gina White's complete Apparition record and guess what - White doesn't have an Apparition license at all! In fact the record begins with three failures of the licensing test some years ago, and then there are absolutely no further records until the last twenty-four hours when there have been a flurry of 30 Apparitions. Two of them, the first and the last, were to Malfoy Manor._

_ And we do have precedent - from the Farnborough trial - showing that the Manor's wards ordinarily prevent a non-Malfoy from Apparating there. We've got him now! I'm simply beside myself with excitement. We could have that second restraint charm on him as soon as Monday if Arthur will cooperate on pushing a trial through quickly._

_ I think it's a safe bet Hermione Weasley is at the Manor. Some of those trick Apparitions can play hob with the Apparition sensors, but this looks like it was a straight shot from Batwing to the Manor's secure entry point._

_ I spoke to Mole #2 as well and he seems as convinced as #1 that Malfoy wouldn't do anything to harm Weasley. I'd feel better knowing for sure that she's all right, however. I've had people trying to owl and floo the Manor for ten minutes now but nobody is responding._

_ Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_ Daschel,_

_ Thanks for the info. It's a pretty ugly scene here at the SPCMA. I debriefed the injured B.U.M.M.E.R. Auror. Apparently a junior Auror - the one who's missing now - spooked Malfoy and he fired off an Expelliarmus using that Gina White witch's wand. There were some side effects, including a fire that partially gutted the SPCMA's main offices (since extinguished). However the Auror who was hit by the curse, Bendover, (can you believe that name?) says he believes it was an accident, and doesn't want to press charges._

_ As for the junior one, Bangor, she was in the middle of trying to subdue Malfoy when Bendover last saw her so I am beginning to fear the worst. These chickenshit ickle-Aurors are no match for him. I don't know what possessed them to take him on in a wand duel. They should have just grabbed the owl and ran. Idiots!_

_ Rudeo Nesbitt  
Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_ Rudy,_

_ We've located Beretta Bangor. The floo records show she made a trip from Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical, Batten Sr. Office, to the Old Mill Ruins, Haverford Swamp. Guess who called the destination? I've sent a team to pick her up. We'll debrief her here and let you know what she says._

_ Go back to Batwing and see if you can get that house-elf to get Malfoy and Weasley on the floo. We need to find out if she's all right. If we can't talk to her, our only other option may be to request to move the raid up to tonight. And I really don't want to be the one to have to tell Arthur his daughter-in-law has been kidnapped._

_ Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_ Daschel,_

_ I just dumped my memory of our arrival to a Debriefing Bowl and took a closer look at the moments before they Apparated. First of all, he was definitely using Gina White's wand. It's a clear-finish oak designer wand, kind of unusual looking so she was able to identify it on sight. Secondly, he didn't take Weasley along intentionally. She grabbed his wand arm just as he was about to Disapparate. If it was anybody but Malfoy, the two of them would be scattered in bite sized chunks all over England by now. As it is, he probably managed the trip, but he'd have been none too happy with her when they arrived._

_ I sent the house-elf to fetch them both back. I don't think we could trust a fire conversation - there'd be no way to tell if Weasley was under Imperius or something. I'll wait here until they arrive. It might take a while. That elf is a Freed elf and apparently there are issues with the other elves that still live there. However she's probably our best bet to extract Malfoy and Weasley without a fight._

_ Don't even bother asking about moving up the raid. Gina White says she's willing to testify. Unless she changes her mind, we've got Malfoy in the bag, so there's no point in messing things up now by charging in there half cocked. I agree with Jones and Zabini that he probably wouldn't harm Weasley, at least not very badly. Not once he's calmed down at any rate._

_ Rudeo Nesbitt  
Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_ Rudy,_

_ Brilliant! In that case I won't contact Arthur at all, for now._

_ Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_ Daz,_

_ Where are you? I thought you said you were going to come home at a reasonable hour tonight. Did you forget we were going to go out for dinner? I know. Work again, huh. Sometimes I think you are more married to your precious Ops than you are to me._

_ Cheri_

* * *

Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please Review!


	25. Holding Down a Tiger

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 25: Holding Down a Tiger

* * *

The front entry of Malfoy Manor was truly grand, suitable for receiving guests for some of the most fabulous balls in the upper-crust wizarding world. It had a vaulted ceiling painted in murals of flying beasts and shifting white clouds, dozens of ornate chandeliers hung from long chains and lit by magic, and a vast marble floor. There were long low marble benches lined up along each side, interspersed with expensive-looking end-tables and potted trees that chimed gently with thousands of tiny cut-glass decorations. There were two massive double-doors large enough to admit entire carriages, and a fountain at the center of the circle which a carriage might follow in passing between the two. At the opposite end of the hall were a pair of broad curved staircases which met at their tops underneath an elaborate archway. Through the arch could be seen a massive single chandelier and another painted ceiling.

The room was still, quiet, and chill.

Until --

**POP!**

* * *

A shock of cold, moist air hit Hermione like a full-body slap. She had a split second to register that they had re-Apparated a meter above the floor and still traveling with all the velocity and momentum they'd had when they vanished from Malfoy's office --

-- and then, Malfoy twisted like a cat and landed on both feet and his free hand in an amazing display of coordination. A moment later, Hermione crashed into him full force from behind and they slammed down hard, all in a tangle with the wrist of his wand arm still clutched in her panic-stricken grip. Her broomstick, briefcase, and the two evidence bags clattered across the floor on impact and her knee struck hard, a terrific pain shooting up it.

And then everything was still.

For a moment she lay stunned, clusters of tiny candle-lights swimming in the periphery of her vision. _We almost died,_ she babbled mentally. _I can't believe I did that.... I grabbed his arm when he was about to Apparate! We could have been killed! That was unbelievably dangerous!_

Then she braced her free hand against a slick cold surface -- marble, it felt like -- and tried to push herself up.

As she lifted her weight, Malfoy moved also, shoving himself up with a sound like a snarl of fury. She saw his fingers clench around the handle of Gina White's wand and in a moment of clarity she realized, _he's going to curse me._

Moving on sheer instinct, Hermione tightened her grip on his left wrist, shifted her free hand to his other shoulder and threw all her weight down onto his back. He slammed down into the floor again with a woof of breath. Instantly she found herself trying to hold down a tiger; he fought her with a ferocious strength and it was all she could do to keep him pinned. She knew it was only the weakness of his wand arm and the other injuries Arthur had alluded to that let her do it.

And for the first time in her life, she was actually thankful for what having five kids does to a woman's figure.

"Get off me," he hissed, his voice hoarse with fury.

"Just calm down," she pleaded desperately.

"I'll kill you! Get off me, you filthy Mudblood!"

_Oh no,_ thought Hermione. _He's really angry!_

"I'm not going anywhere until you calm down," she said.

"The next time someone tells me to calm down, I'm going to rip out their eyes and ram them down their throat!"

Hermione had to admit, people told Malfoy to calm down a lot. She'd personally witnessed it several times in the last two days. While she'd be the first to admit interpersonal relations weren't really her area of expertise, she did feel that under the circumstances she ought to offer what advice she could based on her own personal observations.

"I think they're only saying it because you scare the shit out of them," she said as honestly as possible.

This only seemed to enrage him further. He fought hard, obviously trying his best to throw her off. She shoved down with all her weight and flattened him to the marble with a grunt of expelled breath. She kept pressing until finally, after several long seconds, he stopped fighting her.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't dare loosen her hold just yet. She could feel his damp heat through the silky surface of his robes, the spread of his ribs as he labored to catch his breath.

After several more seconds had passed, Malfoy spoke again, his voice quiet and more than a little pained.

"Will you please get off?"

"Are you calmed down enough to have a normal conversation instead of trying to curse me?" Hermione asked.

"You're squashing me." Yes, he definitely sounded in serious pain and his voice was already growing more stressed out.

"I'm not that heavy," she exclaimed. "And you don't sound very calm to me."

"Weasley, I'm not joking," he cried out. She wondered if she was actually hurting him seriously. Granted, Arthur had said he had possibly debilitating injuries, but she also remembered that when he was a child, Draco Malfoy had had no shame about pretending injury in order to get what he wanted -- or to get out of what he didn't want. He could easily be faking it now.

She stared down at him for long moments, trying to decide which it was. His hair had become mussed and had fallen into his eyes, hiding much of his expression. But she could see part of his profile, and his mouth was drawn into what might be a grimace of agony. Or it might just be frustration.

But faking it or not, she couldn't hold him down indefinitely. She was going to have to let him up and he was already angry enough without her prolonging matters. How could she protect herself, though? After what she'd witnessed during the altercation with the B.U.M.M.E.R. aurors, she had no illusions that she'd be able to handle him if he actually did try to curse her. None whatsoever.

"All right," she said, thinking quickly. "All right, I'll let you up... if you give me your wand."

She felt his breath catch in a near-noise of frustration or pain or fury.

"Are you mad?!"

"You just said you were going to kill me," said Hermione, trying to sound as reasonable as possible. "Wouldn't it be rather foolish of me to let you up still holding your wand?"

There was a long pause, as if Malfoy were wrestling with himself internally. His lips twitched a couple of times and finally twisted into a terrible scowl.

"Take it, then," he said tightly. "But for God's sake be quick about it!"

That was it, then. He was going to let her take the wand. But was he truly cooperating, or was he trying to trick her? She wouldn't have thought it possible for someone as drunk as he'd been the day before to catch a fly right out of the air with two fingers, and yet he'd managed it. Catching Hermione by surprise now would probably be easy for him.

Sucking nervously on her lower lip, she pressed down harder on the rest of him and tried to remain alert to his every movement as she loosened her grip on his wrist and moved her hand slowly up the short distance to the wand. For a moment, she couldn't force herself to do it.

Then, quick as a blink, she snatched Gina White's wand out of his hand.

She felt him sigh as if he'd been waiting in suspense for the grab.

"There, you have it. Now let me go," he said.

But Hermione was inclined to be cautious. Nesbitt had called him "harmless" without his wand, but Nesbitt was a 40-year Special Ops veteran and a thrice-decorated war hero. Harmless to him was probably quite a bit different than harmless to Hermione. She'd seen how Malfoy managed to physically overpower that B.U.M.M.E.R. ickle-Auror. Granted, it had been a sneaky surprise attack from behind, but still. Bangor had been trained in hand-to-hand fighting and probably considered weightlifting a recreational activity. Hermione herself wouldn't last a moment if Malfoy tried to attack her physically and she knew it.

"Don't jump up right away," she warned him. "Wait until I say."

He nodded curtly, his breaths hissing out through flared nostrils.

As she lifted up her weight, she felt him gather his limbs under him and knew that he wasn't planning on staying still at all. The moment he could move, he would, and she'd better be prepared.

Gripping her wand firmly, she got herself balanced and then stood --

And Malfoy lunged to his feet, ramming into her so hard he nearly bowled her over.

"Hey, watch out!" she cried as she staggered back.

"No, you watch it," he snarled, turning on her. She'd known he was freaked out, but it was still a shock to see his face fully and discover it pale and drawn with panic and fury, his eyes bright with tears. She started backward involuntarily and he came after her, his body language aggressive.

"Now, hold on a minute," began Hermione.

"What were you thinking?" Malfoy's voice cracked, evidence enough of how stressed out he was. "Are you suicidal? We could have both been killed! I've never come that close to an accidental splinching before in my life!"

"Just... calm down," said Hermione, forgetting that he didn't like it when people told him to calm down.

"Listen you," he hissed. "I don't know what Weasley and Trelawney are thinking letting you run around without half an idea of how to act in a combat situation, but if you're going to spend any more time around me, you're sure as hell going to learn. A _Muggle child_ has enough sense to take cover when hexes are flying! And if you ever - ever! - interfere with my wand when I'm in the middle of casting a spell again, it's going to take them years just to figure out how many different hexes I used on you - and that's only if there's anything left afterward."

"Maybe you didn't realize it, but normal people who aren't Death Eaters or Aurors rarely find themselves in that situation," said Hermione defensively. She realized she was backing away from him and forced herself to stop. "And I doubt Arthur or Trelawney ever thought someone would be flinging curses over my head! And as for the other, well, I'm sorry," she said truthfully. "I didn't know you were about to Apparate. I thought you were going to curse Nesbitt."

Malfoy kept advancing until he was right in her face. He sneered contemptuously. "Well, then you haven't really done your research, have you?"

Hermione wondered if his record indicated a tendency to Apparate rather than fight, when possible. In any case, his combat record wasn't something Hermione had been given access to. And right at the moment, she was more concerned with his appearance. She couldn't help but notice that despite the exertion, he was dead white. His breaths still sounded painful, and he was hugging his left arm protectively against his chest.

"You're really not all right, are you?" she said in wonder.

He seemed taken aback by her change of subject. He recovered quickly though, his eyes narrowing.

"Of course I'm all right, Weasley," he spat. "Forty year old noncombatant witches have always been able to hurl me to the ground and disarm me with a minimum of difficulty."

She winced at the heavy sarcasm in his tone.

"Er... maybe you had better sit down," she said. "You look awful!"

His lips tightened, but instead of arguing he turned and moved away from her toward one of the benches along the wall. After a moment, she followed, hovering solicitously.

"Keep your distance, Mudblood," he growled.

Hermione gritted her teeth at the insult, but reminded herself that she was trying to get him to calm down, not agitate him further. So, she backed off a bit, then watched as he lowered himself stiffly onto one of the benches and leaned on one of its outwardly-curving arms, supporting himself with his right elbow. She couldn't help but notice that he was still coddling his left arm. He was still giving her a dirty look as well.

As for herself, her knee still hurt something fierce and was forcing her to limp. _Boy, are we a fine pair,_ she thought.

"Look... I really am sorry about the grabbing your arm thing. I thought I was in danger so I just... freaked out I think. Immediate physical emergencies aren't really my strong suit. Are you calm enough that I can give your wand back now?"

Malfoy continued to glare at her malevolently for a moment.

"Well, that explains why you assaulted me in the first place," he said finally. "But why did you take so long to let me up when I told you it was urgent?"

"I really thought you were about to curse me or attack me!" she exclaimed. "And besides, I thought... er...." _Admit it,_ she thought to herself. _You were pretty sure he was faking._ "Well, never mind that. You do want your wand back, don't you?" She held it out to him cautiously.

But Malfoy shook his head. "No. It's not mine. It belongs to one of my employees. You'll need to take it back with you when you go explain to Nesbitt and his goon brigade that you are perfectly all right."

"That I'm...?" Only then did it occur to Hermione that it must have looked terribly suspicious, her disappearing along with Malfoy like that. If they didn't think he'd kidnapped her, they probably thought she had run off with him to join the Death Eaters or something.

"Good grief," she said in alarm. "They think you grabbed me!"

"Now you see my point," he said.

"But Arthur will... I don't know what he'll do!"

"Probably test you to make sure you aren't under Imperius," said Malfoy dryly.

Hermione wasn't the type to say "Omigod", but she could distinctly hear Gina White saying it in her head just then. A pause, and then:

"I'll just go back and talk to them now, then," she said. "Before they have time to really work themselves into a state of panic."

"Wait," he said. He held out his hand toward her. "Take this."

She realized that there were gold coins in his hand, and stopped. There had to be 500 Galleons there in large-denomination coin. By comparison, she'd only had about 128 Sickles to work with when buying her children's school clothes and supplies this year.

He beckoned her to come nearer, clearly impatient with her hesitation. "I insist. If it ever becomes known you've been spreading stories about me, _anything_ about me, you'll be answering to far greater powers than I can protect you from. The stakes are higher than you could ever know. So don't open your damned mouth about me to those Aurors if you know what's good for you and your family! This is for your silence. For the first installment of your silence."

"I - I can't take that money," she stammered.

"You can, and you will," said Malfoy intensely. "If I can't trust you to keep my secrets, we can't work together, and unless there's something in it for you over and above your own so-called 'trustworthiness', that isn't going to happen."

"What!" exclaimed Hermione. "My own trustworthiness is very trustworthy, I'll have you know." _Did I just say that?_ She groaned. Despite all her high moral standards, the sight of that much cash in one place made her a little nervous. Theoretical money owned by corporations was one thing. Gold in someone's hand held out toward her was something else entirely.

"This isn't about ethics, or willpower, or whatever you're thinking," said Malfoy.

"Yes," said Hermione firmly, resolutely ignoring Malfoy's hand. "It is."

"No it isn't!" Malfoy withdrew his hand, but his pale eyes were grim and determined. "It's about Arthur Weasley and how far he is willing to go in the name of gaining evidence. Without something concrete to remind you of right and wrong, you'll just be a pawn for him to manipulate."

"And your money will remind me of right and wrong?" exclaimed Hermione. "I don't think so!"

"Well," he conceded, "it will remind you of promises made at any rate."

"I can handle Arthur Weasley," said Hermione.

"You think so now," said Malfoy. "He's only asked you a few questions, maybe asked you a few favors. Little things, like getting you to return those wands to me and bring the release forms back. Pretty soon he'll have you in a regular habit of coming back to him once a week, twice a week, maybe even daily. If you say you don't have his answers, he'll show you he's disappointed, but also sympathetic. He'll express his concern for your wellbeing. At first.

"Then he'll start putting on the pressure. He'll tell you Trelawney has been asking questions about you, snooping around trying to figure out if you've been talking to him. He'll tell you it's getting more and more difficult to fool her. His wording will be innocent and concerned but the implication will be that she could find out at any moment... and that he could make it happen if he so desired."

"I'll tell Trelawney myself, then," said Hermione staunchly. "If I'm honest and up-front about it --"

"She already knows!" Malfoy hissed, cutting her off. "If someone tells her openly, she'll only be forced to terminate you immediately."

Hermione stared at him in horror. "How does she know? Did you tell her?"

"Don't be a fool, Weasley. It's perfectly obvious. She'd have to be blind not to know it by now."

"How is it so obvious?"

"Firstly, he's your father-in-law. Of course you will be speaking to him. Secondly, Special Ops and Covert Ops glom everybody who has the privilege of saying hello to me, trying to get information or a lead. It's no secret. Trelawney must know. You're no different than anyone else in that respect - in fact, you're more desirable than most because you'll be seeing more of me than most.

"And last - though by no means the least - no less than eight different people took it upon themselves to warn me you were either at Aur Central this evening or had just left there. Everybody and his ex-wife knows where you were from five-fifteen until six-fifteen tonight. I have no doubt that Trelawney has heard it from at least two of the same sources."

"Which two?" asked Hermione, faintly.

Malfoy's lips tightened grimly, and she knew she would not be getting that answer out of him directly.

"But that will only be the beginning of it," Malfoy continued instead. "If that sort of pressure doesn't produce the results he wants, he'll escalate. And he'll keep escalating until things become nasty enough that you step into line.

"He'll turn his son against you. He'll convince Ron Weasley to leave you, and he'll help him win custody of your children and even a restraining order to prevent you from ever seeing them again."

"No, Arthur wouldn't do that," said Hermione.

"Yes, he would, and he will," said Malfoy intensely. "They'll take away your house - it was his, wasn't it? And they'll take most of your pay to help him support the children, and you'll be left with nothing. Nothing."

"That just isn't -"

"I _know._ Trust me." Malfoy's slitted eyes were bright with bitterness.

"But how? How could you know that? He's my father-in-law, I think I know him better than -"

"Because the same thing happened to Pansy," Malfoy hissed.

There was a short, brutal silence.

"It couldn't have been exactly the same," began Hermione, "because -"

"Close enough," said Malfoy.

There was another, longer silence.

"They... the Aurors... convinced you to divorce her?" Hermione finally asked.

"They convinced _her_ to divorce _me._ They knew she would lose the house, the children, and so forth. They wanted her to break all ties with me and they didn't care if she wanted to or not. First they told her to choose between me and her job as an Auror. When it became clear she had refused and was simply waiting to be released from service, they upped the pressure. They made a very convincing threat upon my life. I didn't even know about it at the time, although I found out later that's what finally decided her on the matter."

"I see," Hermione said.

"If you don't believe me, ask your sister-in-law Virginia," Malfoy added. "If the child support payments left Pansy anything of her salary, she wouldn't have been forced to move in with her. I'm sure she's been told the entire story."

Hermione knew there was a lot more to why Pansy lived with Ginny than simple financial dependence, but she suspected now wasn't the right time to remind Malfoy of that. He obviously preferred to delude himself about the circumstances of his first divorce, was in denial about why the mother of his children might have decided to leave him. Not that she couldn't see why he'd find it tempting to believe those things. Who wanted to be rejected by their own spouse for someone else? It was so much easier on the ego to believe the breakup was for political reasons, and at wandpoint.

Malfoy's pale eyes took on an ugly glint. "And if you don't believe her, ask your Harry Potter. He's still alive, isn't he? Somewhere in Muggle Surrey, I believe. Ask him why he is no longer an Auror. I'll guarantee you it isn't because he didn't want to be one.

"This isn't the library, Granger," he said fiercely. "There's no easy right or wrong where family and survival are concerned. And if you don't fall into line, they'll simply keep pushing you harder and harder until you reach that point where family and survival become more important than anything else. And you won't be the first -- why do you think there were reforms? The old-line Aurors will stop at nothing to get what they want."

Hermione frowned and was silent for a bit. She knew Malfoy was wrong, both that Arthur, frustrating as he could be, would actually do something like that -- and that Ron would allow himself to be party to it. She didn't blame Malfoy for the bitterness he obviously harbored about the circumstances of his divorce with Pansy, but she wasn't prepared to believe everything he said on that basis.

She remembered Arthur accusing Malfoy of having formed a monopoly of Muggle companies on purpose, when that was patently ridiculous. In her opinion, Arthur was no more capable of engineering his own son's unwanted divorce than Malfoy was capable of valuing the complexities of Muggle society enough to waste time tinkering with the Muggle economy. It was just one more example of what ridiculous notions people could think up when they became extremely paranoid.

And as for Harry Potter, a lot of people had theories about why he'd gone back to live with the Muggles who'd raised him and rarely showed his face in the mainstream wizarding world anymore. Hermione had some ideas about this herself. But nobody knew why he'd really done it, and she had no reason to believe that Malfoy was any more enlightened than the rest.

Malfoy's eyes had narrowed to slits, gleaming in the light of the chandeliers. "You don't believe me, do you?" The tone of his voice was offended, incredulous.

"No," she admitted, "I don't. I'm sure you believe what you're saying, but I just can't. I know Arthur and Ron both too well."

Malfoy leaned back against the wall, his right hand draped over the curved arm of the bench. Hermione's eyes were caught by the elegant lines of forearm and wrist. He seemed delicately built, but she had seen him wrap that same slender arm around the throat of an Auror and drag her back, forcing her to drop her wand. He was stronger than he looked.

"Ron wouldn't do it," said Hermione. "They have nothing on him. No way to force him -"

"Ah," said Malfoy, "but you're assuming he doesn't want to."

And what Malfoy did lack in strength, he made up for in viciousness.

There was a long pause.

"Just what is that supposed to mean?" demanded Hermione, into the silence. Her voice sounded shrill even to her own ears.

"He's been carrying on with her for years and years now, hasn't he? I should think that could be construed as some indication --"

"What the... who are you talking about? Who has he been 'carrying on with for years and years'?" Hermione asked wildly. She was aware that he was pushing her buttons deliberately, but she couldn't stop herself. "This isn't amusing, Malfoy. I know you don't like Ron, but if you think you're going to turn me against him --"

"Don't play stupid, Weasley, I'm referring to Sheila Lasherton," said Malfoy.

"...who?"

"Sheila Lasherton. Reserve Beater for the Holyhead Harpies. Don't tell me you've been completely clueless all along?"

There was another, even longer, pause. During that silence Malfoy regarded her through half-closed eyes, appearing to consider her in a new light. It was as if he'd assumed something about her all along, and was being forced to reconsider.

For her part, Hermione had always envisioned Ron's cheating being cheap, one-night affairs with fans and hangers-on. Never in her wildest imaginings had she suspected Ron might be in a serious relationship -- particularly with another Quidditch player!

Whatever expression she was wearing on her face, Malfoy didn't seem to like it.

"Could you possibly point that somewhere else?" he asked, glancing at her wand. "I don't want to get hit if it goes off by accident."

"Years and years?" she finally managed to exclaim, her voice rising into a startled screech.

For the first time, she realized she might actually be losing Ron for real. How serious was he about this Sheila Lasherton woman? As a professional player, a Beater even, she must understand him totally in ways Hermione never had and could never hope to. Sheila would have the same obsession with Quidditch, she'd understand gut-level 'what it's like on the road' whatever that was. Presumably it was something, because Ron was always telling Hermione that she didn't understand it. Jealousy welled up in her like some sort of hideous, unfamiliar beast.

"If you're lying to me," began Hermione.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed at the near-threat. "You'll run to Daddy?" he sneered. "Oh, I'm sure he will be most sympathetic."

Hermione frowned unhappily. The truth was, Arthur already thought Hermione was making too big a deal of Ron's behavior. If she started hurling actual accusations, he'd probably get really annoyed - and still side with Ron.

"Well just how do you know about this Sheila Lasherton woman anyway?"

Malfoy's gray eyes kept track of the tip of her wand with surreptitious darts.

"Several years ago - six or seven, I think - I was at the Holyfield pitch to throw out the Quaffle. It was the Holyhead Harpies vs. the Chudley Cannons. While I was there I saw Ron Weasley and that Lasherton person carrying on."

Hermione almost demanded to know what, exactly, constituted "carrying on" but down that path lay insanity. His words gave her the general idea and she would get the rest out of Ron later when she was cool and rational. For now, she just needed the basic information.

"All right," she said as evenly as possible. "Ron said you threw out the Quaffle only two or three years ago. You say six or seven years ago."

"Oh," he said, offhandedly. "I do it every year. I suppose there may have been another game versus the Cannons in between. Ah, yes, there was. I hadn't remembered. Three years ago."

"You throw out the Quaffle every year?" repeated Hermione suspiciously.

Malfoy began to look a little exasperated. "My mother's family has had property in Holyhead for centuries. There's a local minor holiday honoring them. It's become traditional for one of us to throw out the Quaffle on whichever game falls on that date. Is that a problem?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped at the all-too-mundane explanation.

"Oh no. I just wondered."

Malfoy studied her critically. "By the way, he came looking for you at the restaurant last night. Seemed upset that he couldn't find you."

_That's because I've been avoiding him, _thought Hermione, but she wasn't going to tell Malfoy that.

"This Sheila Lasherton," she asked carefully. "What is she like?"

Malfoy's eyes slid furtively away from hers, then returned when she persisted in staring.

"I don't know her very well personally," he said at last. "But she's from a respectable family, pureblooded, and younger."

"How much younger?" demanded Hermione.

"She would have graduated from Hogwarts around the time I first saw them together," he said. "So that would make her 24 or 25, I suppose?"

Hermione's knuckles whitened around her wand. She was so jealous she wanted to scream! But....

But Malfoy was a liar. Yes, she knew that about him and she was stupid to have forgotten it. He was a liar of the worst sort, one with years and years of practice at deception both stealthy and bold. He was Voldemort's right hand man, for Merlin's sake, and still had managed to hold down a position at the Ministry for more than twenty years! He'd managed to get his kids into Hogwarts with what in retrospect seemed obvious lies - nobody who'd done as well as he claimed in private tutoring could possibly be doing so badly in regular class. For all she knew, Ron had been right about his getting ahold of Batwing by foul means too.

Yes, worse than being a liar alone, Malfoy was also ruthless. Anyone who doubted that he was willing to go all the way in pursuit of winning need only look at the ten surrogates to know that it was true. Ten people dead in his stead! How could Hermione have forgotten that?

And it would surely be in his interests to break up her and Ron's marriage. What better way to remove the ugly Weasley connection from his much-needed consultant than a nasty divorce? With Hermione estranged from the entire Weasley clan he'd hardly need to worry about her blabbing his secrets to the Aurors anymore.

Suddenly she was all too aware of the subtle, unconscious grace with which he had draped himself over the bench, the sly appraising glint of his pale eyes as he looked up at her.

This was his turf, she realized. She had been mostly working with him out of his element so far -- seen him and spied on him while he was hopelessly off balance and given only a chance to react to what was happening to him.

But now, right at this moment, Malfoy was in familiar surroundings and playing a familiar game. Politics and the manipulation of loyalties were probably as easy to him as breathing. Under the circumstances, perhaps even moreso.

The sense of being manipulated was overwhelming, and she suddenly knew that she was in way over her head. With Malfoy, with Arthur, even with Trelawney. They were playing a game she was far too inexperienced to comprehend, and if she dared to continue onward, she would surely end up trapped in a tangle of illegal acts, contempt of justice, and deceit.

"Look, I appreciate your wanting me to be informed," she said, "but from now on, don't mention Ron again. It's none of your business! And don't you ever try to bribe me again either! It's immoral, it's probably illegal, and I will not be bought like some common thug. I take pride in my professional ethics and I'm not going to let them be corrupted, not by you, not by Arthur, nor by anyone.

"And by the way, Pansy didn't leave you because of some Auror plot," said Hermione vindictively. "She left you because she's in love with Ginny. And the sooner you get over yourself and admit that, the better off you'll be."

Ah, that had scored a hit. Malfoy's entire body language went tense as wire, and his face turned hard, his eyes vicious cold. The fingers of his injured hand twitched once, tightening, as though around the handle of a wand. And only then did Hermione realize that the "protective" curled position also put that hand in the perfect position to draw his spare from his chest holster, had it currently been there.

And then he was on his feet, quick as a cat, furious.

"Get out of my house," he hissed.

"Malfoy," began Hermione.

"Up those stairs. Fireplace on landing. Out!" He advanced on her, arm outstretched to point up the stairs, expression murderous.

"Fine," said Hermione. She went to go pick up her broom and briefcase from where they had fallen.

Malfoy came after her, kicking one of the evidence bags skidding toward her feet. "Those too," he snarled. "If you think I'm going to sign for those without a lawyer here, you're more foolish than I thought."

"Fine," Hermione bit out. Shaking with adrenaline, she snatched up the evidence bags too, and then straightened and marched to the stairs.

At the top of the stairs was a broad landing with a Persian carpet in its middle and four fireplaces, two on each side. They were cold and unused. There was a small stand between each pair, carrying floo powder in engraved bowls. Hermione took some floo powder and then paused a moment to look beyond the arch.

Before her was a massive ballroom even more magnificent than the entry chamber. A tremendous grand staircase wound down from her feet, following the ballroom's curve. This was clearly the point at which guests made their big entrances, in full view of the entire floor. The fireplaces on the landing were for new arrivals, people who were not arriving by coach or Apparition.

More than anything yet the ballroom made Hermione feel the unbridgeable gap between herself and Malfoy in society, in money, in everything.

As she turned back to the fireplace, she saw that Malfoy had come most of the way up the stair, and was lurking there watching suspiciously to make sure she really left.

He looked isolated and defensive, and it struck Hermione that, when no parties were being held, the Manor was probably a very cold and lonely place to live.

She threw the powder into one of the fireplaces and its gaping dark maw flared up in brilliant green.

"The Burrow!" she cried out.

_To hell with the Aurors,_ thought Hermione. _I'm going home._

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Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please Review!


	26. The Benkmann Files

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

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**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

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Chapter 26: The Benkmann Files

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_Rudy,_

_Merlin save me, I just received an invitation to one of Arthur's damned Quidditch Barbecues at his son's house. He wants a response right away. How am I supposed to say yes when his daughter-in-law, the very witch who'd be hosting the Barbecue, is currently MIA courtesy of Draco Malfoy? I need a resolution on this!_

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

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_Mr. Duncan,_

_Nesbitt says: "Ha ha ha! That will serve him right for being too lily-livered to face Weasley down in the first place." (My apologies, sir, but he insisted I relay the message.)_

_Maurice Benkmann  
For Rudeo Nesbitt  
Special Ops_

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_Mr. Benkmann,_

_I believe he asked you to relay that because he wanted me to experience the benefit of his wisdom without directly experiencing his exact tone and wording. In other words, please feel free to paraphrase in an, ah, respectful and diplomatic manner when relaying in the future. In fact, I insist._

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

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_Mr. Duncan,_

_Yes, sir. My apologies, sir._

_Maurice Benkmann  
Special Ops_

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_Maury!_

_Brother! I heard about your new partner! Have you started yet? I've told everybody I know and they are as pleased as I am. That has to be about the best assignment an Auror could possibly get, don't you think? So what's Nesbitt like when he's not around the media? Have you seen him kill off a Death Eater yet? Do tell!_

_David Benkmann_

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_Dave,_

_Thanks. Yes, I started yesterday. Actually it's been incredible. Non stop action all day and most of the night and then again today. All I had time to do this morning was catch a few hours of sleep, fling a few grooming charms and tea and toast in my face, and go back to work. If I had a girlfriend, I suspect she'd already be thinking about leaving me._

_ Regarding Nesbitt, he's everything they say and more. Actually he's scary! I didn't find out about this until a few hours ago, but apparently Nesbitt's previous partner actually got sacked for trying to prevent him from using unnecessary force on a suspect. In public, in front of witnesses! The partner got fired and Nesbitt didn't even get a slap on the wrist. That just shows you how much power Nesbitt has in the department._

_ I haven't seen Nesbitt kill anybody yet, though I've seen him fire off a few curses. Pretty impressive! He hasn't let me do much of anything combat related, unfortunately. So far he's stuck me with the boring work like searching premises and people. Oh yeah you can tell your friends I searched Draco Malfoy yesterday. Glamorous, no? He had this amazing wand. Zitan wood and Fireball nose-feeler do you have any idea what that must be worth?_

_ I'm actually on the job right now. It's still the Malfoy case Nesbitt has been on it full-time for two or three months now. We're staking out Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical waiting for something to happen. Apparently Malfoy grabbed Arthur Weasley's daughter-in-law (you know, Arthur Weasley the Director of Auror Affairs?) and kidnapped her. Or something. Everything is confused because apparently the daughter-in-law was actually working for Malfoy. I wonder if Arthur knew that? We still don't know if she went willingly or what._

_ Nesbitt has me receiving his owls for him and relaying messages. He says it's because he needs his reflexes unencumbered in case Malfoy Apparates in and tries to ambush him. Personally I think it's just because he doesn't want to bother with it himself. I've been reading Malfoy's file and he never Apparates in and ambushes Aurors. Oh well. I'd still rather be junior partner to Nesbitt than senior partner to anyone else._

_Maurice Benkmann_

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_Mr. Duncan,_

_We've got Malfoy! He just showed up on his own about five minutes ago. Nesbitt is talking to him now. I'll send you an update as soon as I know more._

_Maurice Benkmann  
Special Ops_

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_Mr. Duncan,_

_I have that update for you. Malfoy claims the Apparition was uneventful and that Hermione Weasley is fine. He says she didn't know he was about to Apparate and grabbed his arm because she thought he was about to curse us. He says they discussed what happened, and then she went home - via floo. As far as his Freed House-elf being unable to contact him at the Manor for us, he says that is because the bound elves still living there often prevent her from contacting him due to their own internal politics. He also said something about it being a shame he no longer has an owl.(?)_

_ We have been unable to search him this time because he has a one-shot Portkey in his hand and says he will use it to get away if we try to do anything to him. He arrived by Portkey too, by the way. Nesbitt asked him about his wands and especially Gina White's wand and he said Hermione Weasley has all three of them and that he wouldn't suggest going over to her place right now because she and Ron Weasley are about to have the mother of all domestic disputes.(?) At any rate, he's letting Nesbitt question him so long as he does it from across the room. We might be able to get a few more questions in while Malfoy is being cooperative, so if you have any let us know ASAP._

_Maurice Benkmann  
Special Ops_

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_Mr. Duncan,_

_Never mind. Malfoy said he'd come for some papers he'd left on his desk, and when he found out they'd been confiscated he flipped his wig. Gave Nesbitt a real tonguelashing and Portkeyed away. Sounds like those papers were pretty important, so you might want to get someone analyzing those right away. Nesbitt is still laughing. He called Malfoy "madder than a wet harpy"._

_Maurice Benkmann  
Special Ops_

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_Rudy,_

_Sorry it took so long but we have verification on Hermione Weasley flooing from Malfoy Manor to the Burrow._

_ I'll handle it from here. Finish up what you're doing there, then head on back._

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

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_Rudy,_

_See attached below._

_Daschel_

_*** _

_Mr. Duncan,_

_You were right about those papers. Get this: among them was a list in Malfoy's writing of dozens of boards and committees that he is known to be on. The top five items on the list had a line drawn through them. Liz found a couple of items in the Nips and Notes section of today's Late Evening Edition WWN saying Malfoy has bowed out of his presidency of the Society for the Ethical Use of Elective Necromancy and has also left the board of W.A.A.U.U.G.H. (Wizards Against Aurors' Unnecessary Use of Grievous Hexes). Significantly, both entities are among those five crossed-off items on Malfoy's list. There are also two rumors, one in the Owlpost Post and one in the Daily Prophet, regarding a couple of the others. I'm having Liz do some more checking into the matter as I write this._

_Lola Belleville  
Research Department  
Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Mr. Duncan,_

_Nesbitt says thanks for the information and he would bet his wand that Malfoy quit the Ministry rather than getting sacked as the media are reporting. I asked him why he thought that, and all he said was, "a snake sheds its skin, not vice versa"._ _Whatever that means._

_Maurice Benkmann  
For Rudeo Nesbitt  
Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Rudy,_

_I send a couple of Flying I's over to the Burrow and verified that the Weasleys are, indeed, having the mother of all domestic disputes at the moment. I've got Patric on putting in a few anonymous tips to the Department of Domestic Disturbances Emergency Containment Division and I've put a bug in Cerise's ear that we would like the Mrs. brought back to their station. I'll let you know when you can go examine her._

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Rudy,_

_See below!!! And get your arse back in here as soon as you're done!_

_Daschel_

_***_

_Mr. Duncan,_

_Listen to this! Liz was able to verify that Malfoy had also resigned the boards of the Cotter Lane Foundation and the Society for the Non-Proliferation of Half-Breeds late this afternoon, as well as told the rest of the Foreign Aid Committee to go hex themselves, which I believe could be construed as a resignation as well. That covers the five items on the list (see attached) that were crossed out. But get this: in addition, Liz has been checking with the others and the next two organizations on the list, the Pureblood Orphans Respite House and the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Magical Animals, have also received notifications from him, and they were within the last ten minutes! (Also, Malfoy requested that his donation to the S.P.C.M.A. be refunded, and they reacted very oddly when Liz asked them why he might have done that!)_

_ We went over the list and compared it to his file, and there are only three organizations he has active leadership in that aren't on this list. Those being St. Mungo's, the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and of course, the Death Eaters. Interesting, no?_

_ Lola Belleville  
Research Department  
Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Rudy,_

_Did you get that last owl? Malfoy seems to be hemorrhaging responsibilities right and left. What on earth is going on? It must be very big. I can't believe our spies haven't had even a breath of this._

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Mr. Duncan_

_Cc: Lola Belleville, Liz Kendall, Rudeo Nesbitt, Maurice Benkmann_

_We did report yesterday that Hermione Weasley had asked Malfoy to give up some of his community activities and his Ministry position in order to free himself up for putting more time into Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical. _

_Codename Fallen Hawk  
Covert Ops_

_

* * *

_

_To: Cov Ops_

_Cc: Lola Belleville, Liz Kendall, Mr. Duncan, Maurice Benkmann_

_For the last time, stop intercepting our owls!_

_Rudeo Nesbitt,  
Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Rudy,_

_Hear, hear!_

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Maury,_

_Are you sure Hermione Weasley has been kidnapped? Wizard Radio just reported that there has been a raid on her house to stop a huge domestic dispute, and she was arrested and charged with disturbing the peace._

_David Benkmann_

_

* * *

_

_Dave,_

_Sorry, can't write right now. Very busy. Will explain later._

_Maurice Benkmann_

_

* * *

_

_Rudy,_

_Do you think there is any truth to Cov Ops' theory? It seems kind of far-fetched but...._

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Mr. Duncan,_

_Nesbitt respectfully asks if he hears correctly that you are suggesting Draco Malfoy would rearrange his life on advice from someone of Muggle parentage who he's only been working with for two days. If so, he expresses his disbelief that this is a valid theory._

_Maurice Benkmann  
For Rudeo Nesbitt  
Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Rudy,_

_Actually no, I am just wondering if the entire Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical thing is a front. Nobody has come up with a rational explanation for why Malfoy is messing with the company as it generates no revenue, brings no specific political gain, and only gives him additional stress and headaches. _

_ What if there is no explanation, other than that it's a smokescreen? While we're wasting time trying to figure out why he's doing it, he's maneuvering himself into position for something really big. So I'm not suggesting that Malfoy is actually taking advice from Hermione Weasley, just that he wants us to think he is. Wouldn't it be a kick in the arse if he could stand up in court and sweetly say he did such-and-so for the benefit of his company, thus wriggling his way out of yet another pile of evidence linking him to Death Eater crimes?_

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Mr. Duncan,_

_Nesbitt says: Yes it would, and he could throw big money and big effort down a giant rathole like Batwing for years without making any difference at all. And everybody would believe him, because that is what people who own failing companies do. Very good thinking, Mr. Duncan sir._

_ Maurice Benkmann  
For Rudeo Nesbitt  
Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Rudy,_

_The more I think about it, the more I think I'm right about Batwing. There just isn't any other believable explanation. I've asked three business analysts in the past few minutes and they all said the same thing: based on Malfoy's prior record, they would have expected him to drop Batwing like a hot potato, not rearrange his life for it. And they would stand up in court and say that, too._

_ I'm going to send this up to the Think Tank and have them brainstorm on what Malfoy might be planning on doing with all that free time, and why he thinks he can get away with disappearing off the political map the way he's going to as soon as the hubbub dies down over these resignations._

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Mr. Duncan,_

_Nesbitt says: I can't fathom why he'd choose to do it this particular way, but I do think you're right. That being the case, maybe we should consider bringing Business, Labour, and Safety in on this. Between the three of them they could bring Batwing to its knees within a matter of a few short weeks. That would take that little problem out of the way nicely. Just a thought._

_Maurice Benkmann  
For Rudeo Nesbitt  
Special Ops_

* * *

Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please Review!


	27. He Says, She Says

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 27: He Says, She Says

* * *

Witch's Brew was considered a "chick beer" and therefore wasn't Ron Weasley's usual brand, but apparently he'd opted to work his way through Hermione's stash rather than leave the house and risk her turning up when he wasn't there.

When Hermione arrived in a blast of green fire, she found the living room of the Burrow completely trashed. Her work papers regarding Batwing and Malfoy were still scattered copiously over the coffee table, end tables and couches, and now they were joined by three different brands of fast-food wrappers, a case's worth of empty Witch's Brew bottles, assorted dirty Quidditch socks, two pro-issue Beater's bats, a Bludger confined in a No-Go-Donut, and one very dishevelled looking Ron Weasley.

Ron had been sprawled asleep on one of the couches, but sat bolt upright at Hermione's precipitous entrance. He was unshaven, unbathed, and still wore a salt-stained orange Cannons uniform.

"Hermie!" he exclaimed, in evident relief. "You're back! Where have you been? I was worried sick about you!"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," said Hermione tiredly, and slumped onto the couch opposite, dumping all of her stuff at her feet.

Something flashed in the lower boundary of her vision, and she glanced down and saw to her surprise that there were two He-Says-She-Says charms sitting in the middle of the coffee table on a patch of glass carefully cleared of papers. One resembled a small cardboard cutout of Rowena Ravenclaw, and the other resembled Viktor Krum. Each had a little word balloon sticking out of its mouth. The flash had been Rowena Ravenclaw's word balloon changing in response to Hermione saying "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." It now said: _I'd tell you, but you'd become irrationally angry and probably want to go kick somebody's arse, and I really can't cope with that right now._

"Oh no!" Hermione exclaimed.

Rowena Ravenclaw's word balloon quickly changed to: _Oh god! He-Says-She-Says charms!_

"Aren't they great?" said Ron enthusiastically. "We need to talk, and I thought they'd help in knowing we were being honest with each other. They're just like a truth charm!"

Viktor Krum's word balloon said: _Parvati better be right about this. These things cost a fortune!_

"Um," said Hermione, making a mental note to throttle Parvati Patil at the next earliest opportunity. "I hate to say it, but from what I've seen of them so far they're not exactly truth charms. They're more like reckless bluntness charms. Probably not very conducive to a civilized conversation, or at least not a tactful one."

She pointed at the Viktor Krum charm.

Ron read what it said and blanched. "Oh."

After a moment, Hermione reached out and laid both charms down on their faces so they couldn't be read. Ron did not object.

"I do agree we need to talk, though," she said. "It's not going to be easy, but at this point I don't think we have any choice if we want things to work out."

Ron nodded. "So, I thought I could get the keg and you could handle the food?"

Hermione blinked. _Keg food oh! The Quidditch Barbecue! How could he be thinking about the Barbecue at a time like this?_ But of course, Ron no idea that she had just found out the truth about his infidelity. Or at least, Malfoy's version of the truth. Suddenly Hermione realized that bringing the subject up with Ron was going to be a lot more difficult than she had thought. She couldn't just blurt it out any old time, no matter how much the news had upset her. She had to take first things first.

First get the Barbecue out of the way. Then confront Ron about Sheila Lasherton.

"Look, Ron this Barbecue thing I know your parents are really gung ho on it, and they said you'd already agreed, but I don't think it's such a good idea," she said. "My work is really stressful and I just took on a brand new client -"

"Malfoy," supplied Ron.

"Yes, him, and I just got done telling him he needs to put in more time at Batwing on the weekends. There's no way I can tell him I'm going to be taking a weekend off now, not this week!"

"Invite him," suggested Ron. "And his rugrats play Quidditch too, don't they? Invite them as well."

There was a short, startled silence.

"Er you want me to invite Malfoy?"

"Well, why not?" said Ron, leaning back with his arms folded behind his head and his legs casually stretched out amongst the junk under the coffee table. "He's your client, isn't he? You always invite your clients."

"I usually do," said Hermione cautiously. "But I thought you hated him."

"Well, he's not my favorite person," admitted Ron, "but that's no reason to stand in the way of you doing your job. Besides, it's been twenty years since I played Quidditch with Malfoy. It would be fun to see if he's been keeping up with it."

Hermione couldn't help it. She had to know. She reached over and picked up the Viktor Krum charm and found its word balloon jammed with tiny text. She had to hold it close to her nose to make the words out: _I would give my left nut to see that skinny little rat go down under a hail of Bludgers. Please, God, oh please let her say yes because making nice to his pointy, ferrety little face for two or three hours is more than a fair price for the privilege of taking him out in a matter of seconds on the backyard pitch. Please please please!_

"Jesus," exclaimed Hermione.

Ron immediately snatched up the Rowena Ravenclaw charm and read it. After a moment, by mutual unspoken agreement, they showed the charms to one another.

The Rowena one said: _I knew it! I'm married to a Neanderthal._

Ron grimaced. "Maybe you're right," he said. "I mean, about the Barbecue. It's just that I'm not sure how to put this, but mom and dad already started inviting people."

"They what!"

He spread his hands apologetically. "They'd already invited some of their friends from work even before I knew we were going to have a party. It wasn't my idea. They just sprang it on me last night as already planned."

"You're not joking!" said Hermione.

"No," said Ron sadly.

"But there'll be they'd have invited Daschel Duncan, and -"

"His name did come up," admitted Ron.

"That does it then," said Hermione. "You're going to have to handle the Barbecue by yourself. I can't be unavailable for work this weekend, not while I'm still trying to win Malfoy's trust and cooperation, and I certainly can't invite him to the party when there will be non-family Ministry people there."

"Why not? It's not as if there won't be politics there already, and I'm sure Malfoy knows how to act at a dinner party. He probably grew up at them."

Hermione sighed. "It's just not a good idea. Malfoy is on a hair trigger. He's under so much stress these days it doesn't take a lot to set him off, and he does know how to use his wand as a weapon. And all those Ministry people are twice as paranoid about him as he is about them. All it would take is one wrong word or something happening to his daughter in Quidditch, or or something and it could turn into a bloodbath."

"Well then, everybody will just have to give up their wand at the door," said Ron reasonably.

_He wouldn't dare try anything unarmed,_ said the Viktor Krum charm, _but I sure hope he does. I'd love to grab him by his scrawny little albino pencil neck and -_

Ron reached across and covered the charm with his hand, pulled it free of Hermione's grasp so he could lay it face down again.

"Look," he said, "what it said that might be what I'd want to do, but I wouldn't. You know that."

"I know," said Hermione.

The Rowena Ravenclaw charm said: _Yeah, right. That's why you burst in on him in a public restaurant and would have tried to do just that if Crabbe and Goyle hadn't stopped you._

Ron stared at it for a moment. She could see him trying to figure out how Hermione had found out about that little episode, but of course the obvious explanation was that Malfoy had told her about it.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do," she said. "And it's big of you, it really is. I know you don't want him here, but the fact that you'd be willing to let him come just to support my work it's really noble of you." She took a deep breath. "But it's just not realistic, is it? Someone will only get hurt, or worse."

Ron's shoulders slumped.

"I yeah. You're probably right. But you'll be there unless you actually have to work, right? And you'll still do the food?"

Hermione gritted her teeth in frustration. There just wasn't any way to escape this Barbecue thing. Here she was with nearly insurmountable problems at work, and her husband was cheating on her for heaven's sake and she still had to confront him about that, and they barely ever saw each other anyway, and now she was going to get stuck cooking for the whole party too, when half the invitees were people she wouldn't have wanted around anyway. It was enough to make a person scream.

But instead, she took a deep breath.

"Of course. Just let me know how many people I need to cook for, and I'll set everything up during the week. I'm certain I could get a few minutes free to come set off the preparation charms and make sure everything happens correctly."

"Mom and dad didn't say how many they had invited, but I can find out," said Ron. "And aside from that, I assume we'd be inviting the twins and their families, and Bill and Charlie and their families, and Ginny of course."

_Not Pansy, _thought Hermione. _Of course. The Weasleys are as irrational about Pansy as Malfoy is about Mudbloods._

There was a pause. Ron was staring in shock at the Rowena Ravenclaw statuette. Hermione looked at it too, and gasped. It said: _Maybe we should invite that Sheila Lasherton cow too. Why not? One big happy family, eh? Boy, wouldn't I love to slave away in the kitchen and on the grill, making a nice welcome home for that STUPID FILTHY WHORE while people who really should be part of the family are left --_ Hermione snatched the Rowena charm out of Ron's hand and pressed it face-first against her bosom before either of them could read any more. However, the damage had already been done.

"Sheila?" said Ron, his face turning so white his freckles seemed to jump out like Muggle stop-signs. "How did you know about her? Wait a minute, it's Malfoy isn't it? He told you!"

Ron grabbed up the Viktor Krum charm and looked at it. It said: _Oh shit, how did that backbiting little slimeball remember that from so long ago?_ He tossed it aside, but it landed face up, its incriminating words plain to see.

"So what if he did?" demanded Hermione.

The Rowena Ravenclaw charm said: _So that's why you remembered Malfoy throwing out the Quaffle. That's probably the first thing you thought of when you heard I was going to be working with him, isn't it? How he saw you with your little fresh-out-of-Hogwarts Quidditch chickie, you lying, cheating sack of --_

"That slimy bastard! I'll kill him!" raged Ron.

The Viktor Krum charm said: _That slimy bastard! I'll kill him!_

"Don't you dare, Ronald Weasley," growled Hermione.

The Rowena Ravenclaw charm continued: _-of Skrewt dung! And don't you dare! I don't plan on losing my job because you'd rather beat the crap out of someone than tell me the truth. Not to mention, he'd probably curse you to next Tuesday before you could lay a finger on him. Anyway, stop trying to change the subject!_

"Look, I don't know why you listen to what that little rat says. He was probably just saying it to get to you, and it's all lies anyway!" said Ron.

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she ignored the Viktor Krum charm this time. "If it's all lies anyway," she snarled, "why did you get that look on your face when you saw her name?"

"Because I knew you would overrea -"

"Overreact?" Hermione screeched, her voice rising up in an uncanny imitation of Molly Weasley's. Ron's eyes widened and suddenly he was on the defensive. There was a smell of smoke on the air. Hermione vaguely wondered where it was coming from.

"OK I uh look, you've got to calm down," Ron said anxiously.

"I I what?" Hermione stuttered. "Excuse me? Why should I calm down? You've been _cheating_ on me!"

"I know, but ." began Ron.

"Damn it, Ron, she's twenty-five years old! Don't you have any shame? And what about our kids?"

"Just OK. I can explain," he said, reaching towards her hand.

"Don't _touch_ me!" she shrieked in fury.

And then, they found out where the smell of smoke had been coming from.

* * *

**_KABOOM!!!_**

* * *

A flash of orange and the floor jumped, spilling both Ron and Hermione to the ground. They staggered up, ears popping, to the sound of crackling fire. All the lights in the place had been blown out, and the windows were lit up with an eerie orange glow. Through them could be seen a strange, previously-unknown gap between the row of outbuildings across the yard. Debris was still raining down all over the place, and in the spot where Arthur's old Muggle artifacts experiment shed had been, there was only a pile of wood rubble and mounting flames.

_Did I do that?_ thought Hermione in disbelief as she looked upon the surreal sight.

"Shit," squeaked Ron, in fear and awe. "Now it's definitely time to calm down."

"I didn't do that," said Hermione defensively.

"Yes you did," said Ron fervently. "You have a right to be angry, but not to totally freak out! Now calm down before you kill us both!" he pleaded.

But Hermione hadn't cast much wild magic even when she was eleven years old. There was no way she had suddenly started doing it now. "I didn't do it!" she repeated, wild-eyed.

"Of course you did, Hermie. Who else could possibly -"

* * *

**_WHAM!_**

* * *

The front door blew open with a crash and a shower of splinters and six olive-clad Aurors charged into the living room of the Burrow, causing both Ron and Hermione to whirl away from the window in startlement.

"What the ?!" began Ron.

"Get down, Mr. Weasley," barked one of the Aurors, and then two of them tackled Ron bodily, knocking him down onto a couch. The couch crashed over onto its back, dumping Ron and the two Aurors to the floor and sending books, papers, and beer bottles flying everywhere.

"Aargh!" shrieked Ron from beneath the pile of bodies, his long legs flailing in the air above his head.

For her part, Hermione didn't even have time to react - three other Aurors had her surrounded immediately and their combat staves belched white fire, freezing her in place.

"Erk?" was all she could think to say as she toppled stiffly onto the floor.

From that angle she had a perfect view of the Aurors themselves. They were dressed in true combat gear from the war, but their chests bore white triangular emblems featuring a spiky triple-D.

Seeing that, she knew exactly who they must be.

* * *

One of the most notable differences between government in the Wizarding world and government in the Muggle world was how domestic disturbances were handled. In the Muggle world, domestic disputes might be minor or they might be fatal, but in either case they were usually private and the consequences to the neighbors rarely extended beyond overheard yelling or the obligation to phone the police. Not so in the Wizarding world! In fact, outside of war, domestic arguments were the number one cause of full scale Magical Catastrophes. This was because the strength of Wild Magic, and its likelihood of occurrence, was directly proportional to the degree of negative emotion the witch or wizard was experiencing. Wild magic cast by kids was bad enough, but an adult with full magical powers who completely lost it could cause incredible damage. And what was more emotional than a nasty domestic dispute?

The Department of Domestic Disturbances, therefore, had a sub-department called the Emergency Containment Division, which was further subdivided into an administrative portion, and a paramilitary unit known as the Disaster Containment Squad. It was from this department that members had been culled to form the Department of Magical Catastrophes when Sirius Black - or rather, Peter Pettigrew - proved that sometimes disasters happened that were neither war nor marriage related.

It was the combat-ready Aurors of the Department of Domestic Disturbances Disaster Containment Squad Hermione saw before her now.

* * *

As they hauled Hermione to her feet, and the two who'd tackled Ron helped him to his, Hermione could see the sixth remaining Auror rifling through the papers on the coffee table and gathering them up. Suddenly she realized what would happen if they found the things there that Trelawney was not supposed to have, like the photo from the raid on Malfoy Manor.

"Hey wait," she said in alarm, her voice a bit distorted because the immobilization charm had made her whole face numb. "You can't take -"

"Evidence," grunted the Auror.

"Evidence of what?" she demanded incoherently. "We weren't fighting about -"

And then she realized. This wasn't about a domestic disturbance at all, it was about Draco Malfoy. When she hadn't returned to explain herself to Nesbitt and his sidekick, Special Ops had pulled strings to get her busted by the Disaster Containment Squad so that they could seize whatever they wanted and bring her in for questioning. She didn't know how Nesbitt had found out she and Ron were having a fight, but she'd bet her two front teeth that Nesbitt would be there waiting for her at Domestic Disturbances HQ when they brought her in.

"Oh, no," she said. "I'm not going with you."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," said one of the Aurors holding her, "but we have no choice. The Wild Magic O' Meter showed a WMI or Wild Magic Index of 88.8 on a scale of one to 100 in this area just before we came in."

"Jesus," said Ron, staring at Hermione in horror.

Her face turned red. "I didn't do it," she seethed. "I've been set up! They just want to question me about Malfoy. I'll bet that Agent Nesbitt is waiting right there to nab me when they bring me in. This whole thing was probably his idea!"

Several different emotions whizzed across Ron's face as if he didn't know whether to be upset or amused or baffled. Then he really saw what the sixth Auror was doing, and something clicked in his expression. Hermione knew he must have remembered Malfoy's criminal record and all the times he'd supposedly been picked up on Domestic Disturbance calls. This was clearly one of the many ways the erstwhile Department of Magical Law Enforcement managed to get what it wanted despite ostensibly being disbanded.

"Wait a minute," Ron demanded, as the Aurors began to drag Hermione towards the door.

"We apologize, sir, but we must bring her somewhere safe, where she can cool down without damaging anything else," said one of the Aurors as he deftly removed Hermione's wand from its pocket and placed it in his own.

"It's for Nesbitt," yelled Hermione. "What a farce."

"But you can't just - I don't want to press charges or anything - " Ron protested.

"Forget it, Ron," said Hermione bitterly. "There's nothing you can say to stop them. They'll let me go when their questions have been answered."

"I'll call dad," said Ron. "He'll make them stop."

But Hermione suspected that by the time Arthur could act - assuming he even bothered - it'd be far too late.

* * *

In the short time since the explosion, the front yard had become packed with reporters. Everything was luridly lit by swarming Lite-Brites and an enormous Pillow-Wisp that loomed like the moon in the smoky haze from the burning shed. Hawks-eye charms and Flying I's jostled for a gander at her, and the reporters surged forward, babbling their questions.

Hermione scarcely had time to wonder how they'd found out about this and arrived on her doorstep so quickly; the Aurors were dragging her down through the crowd, pushing and shoving, using their staves to force people back. Waiting near the center of the mob were another gaggle of Triple-D Aurors carrying broomsticks, and an enormous push-broom harnessed to a floating prisoner transport booth.

As they pushed Hermione inside the cramped booth, Ron stood on the front steps and called out to her. She thought he said "I'll floo dad!" but she could barely hear him over the crowd. And then the reporters had closed in around him and there was nothing she could do but wait for what would come.

* * *

Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please Review!


	28. Grilled Weasel on Toast

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 28: Grilled Weasel On Toast

* * *

_An excerpt from the transcript of Rudeo Nesbitt's interview of Hermione Weasley._

* * *

Rudeo Nesbitt: Hello, Mrs. Weasley.

Hermione Weasley: I knew you were behind this! [fuming]

Nesbitt: Have you met my new partner, Maurice Benkmann?

Maurice Benkmann: Hello.

Weasley: [indecipherable]

Nesbitt: Let's get right down to business, shall we? We have a lot of questioning to get through.

Weasley: They've set my bail at ten times my husband's and my yearly salaries combined. So don't bother to rush. I'll be lucky if I'm out of here by next week.

Nesbitt: How inconvenient.

Weasley: For me, anyway.

Nesbitt: Hmm yes. I'm sure you know what we're here to talk to you about?

Weasley: Malfoy.

Nesbitt: About what happened at his office today, actually. The wand duel. You don't mind if we have a seat, do you?

Weasley: No. [sighs] Go ahead.

Nesbitt: [a shuffling of clothes and papers, a squeak of chair on floor] We've already spoken with the Aurors themselves, of course. We're mostly interested in your perspective on the same events.

Weasley: I see.

Nesbitt: Why don't you start from the beginning. What happened?

Weasley: Well from when I first saw the Aurors?

Nesbitt: That seems as good a spot as any.

Weasley: [a pause] Fine, then. [another pause] May I have some water?

Nesbitt: Benkmann, pour her some water.

Benkmann: Yes, sir.

Weasley: Thank you.

Nesbitt: Go on.

Weasley: They were already there when I arrived. Waiting in the lobby. The entryway. There's a little yellow sitting room that fronts Malfoy's office.

Nesbitt: I'm familiar with it.

Weasley: When I first arrived they were arguing with Poopsie - she's a Freed elf who works there - trying to convince her to let them in, but she wouldn't. When Malfoy came out, he wanted to know who they were and they introduced themselves as Bendover and Bangor from the department of B.U.M.M.E.R.

Benkmann: [snickers]

Nesbitt: And how did he react to that?

Weasley: I'm not sure he was convinced they were really Aurors. A lot of people have never heard of B.U.M.M.E.R., you know.

Nesbitt: True. Go on.

Weasley: Anyway, he said he didn't have time to deal with them. He asked me to come with him into his office, and so I did. But before we'd sat down or anything, the Aurors came in after us and insisted upon speaking to Malfoy. They said they wanted to examine his owl.

Nesbitt: Good, good.

Weasley: Pardon me?

Nesbitt: Nothing. Go on.

Weasley: They asked him if he'd used the owl for fighting other owls, and he said no. They asked if he knew owl fighting was illegal, and he said yes. Then they stunned the owl I think that's when things began to get ugly.

Nesbitt: What happened?

Weasley: I'm trying to remember. He asked them if they had a warrant.

Nesbitt: Did they?

Weasley: Yes, but when he read it he became extremely angry. They got nervous and the other Auror, Bangor, got her wand out too. Bendover had already had his out from casting the stunning spell.

Nesbitt: And that was when the duel began?

Weasley: Not yet. First he demanded to know who their informant had been, and when they refused to say he decided it had to have been you. He was so furious he threw a, it was a bowl of owl tips, at the Auror named Bendover.

Nesbitt: [laughing] He threw what??

Weasley: A bowl it was this pottery bowl shaped like a mouse. It had Sickles in it. He used them to tip owls. I think he might have inherited it from Batwing's original owner.

Nesbitt: I see. Was his wand out at this point?

Weasley: No, not yet. He threw the bowl at Bendover, who dodged, and it shattered and coins rolled all over the place. Then Bendover told the other Auror, Bangor, to leave. So she did, with the owl. Via floo.

Nesbitt: Not one of the three mentioned how the bowl was broken. Ha!

Weasley: [says nothing]

Nesbitt: And then Malfoy attacked Bendover?

Weasley: Well, Bendover threw the first curse.

Nesbitt: Good god. These ickle-Aurors get worse every day. He threw the first curse, on an unarmed assailant? What curse was it?

Weasley: I wouldn't call Malfoy unarmed, exactly he'd just thrown a heavy bowl at Bendover's head.

Nesbitt: I've been on the receiving end of Malfoy's throws. Trust me, he was unarmed.

Weasley: If you say so. Anyway, Bendover tried to Petrify him but Malfoy drew his own wand - well, I think it was his son's actually - and did an Erratus to disarm him.

Nesbitt: What happened next? After the Erratus.

Weasley: Bendover grabbed up his wand again and Malfoy began to chase him around the room trying to get him to say how the owl thing was arranged. Bendover tried to Stupefy him and another spell I didn't quite catch, but he threw them both off with defensive curses.

Nesbitt: Which ones?

Weasley: Deflecto was for Stupefy, and Exstinguate for the other one.

Nesbitt: [sound of quill scratching on paper]

Weasley: Finally Bendover realized he wasn't going to get Malfoy that way and was only making him more upset. Also he figured out it was only a student wand, so he wasn't really in that much danger himself. So he said something to that effect and Malfoy dropped his son's wand and pulled out this other wand. One that wasn't his. I think it belonged to Gina White, one of his employees - she was waiting out in the yellow room too, trying to get it back.

Nesbitt: I see. And was that when he cursed Bendover?

Weasley: No he threatened to, but he didn't. Bendover managed to talk him down a bit.

Nesbitt: Really! Perhaps there's more to this Bendover fellow than meets the eye.

Weasley: He got him to come over to his desk and sit down, but didn't try to disarm him or anything. They started talking about the owl and how Malfoy could maybe get it back if he cleaned up his act, but Malfoy didn't sound like he believed him.

Nesbitt: Malfoy is a lot sharper than most people give him credit for.

Weasley: [silence]

Nesbitt: How did Bendover end up on fire and wandless?

Weasley: Ah. Well just as Bendover was going to leave - via floo - Bangor came back. Via floo also. She didn't even stop to find out what was going on, she just look, you must have heard all this in detail from them. Do I really have to go over it?

Nesbitt: As we saw, some details were left out. Go on.

Weasley: [sighs] Well. She tried to Stupefy Malfoy as he was sitting in his chair. But he threw himself on the floor and the curse missed. He came up with his wand aimed at Bendover and did an Expelliarmus and Bendover went flying backward into the floo. He'd already opened it, you see, to leave, and it was still active.

Nesbitt: I see. And the fire?

Weasley: I think it was a side effect from using a strange wand. I didn't see anything different about the way he cast it.

Nesbitt: [scratching quill noises]

Weasley: And he must have Disapparated right after casting the curse, because by the time I realized what had happened he was already gone. He didn't even stick around long enough to catch Bendover's wand. It just flew onto the floor.

Nesbitt: And what happened to Bangor?

Weasley: He Apparated behind her and grabbed her and she dropped her wand. He still had Gina White's wand but he didn't curse her. He said .

Nesbitt: Go on.

Weasley: I don't remember the exact wording. But he said for her to relay a message to you. And then he said he'd turn her and Bendover into amphibians and sell them as parts if he caught them around Batwing again.

Benkmann: [muffled laugh]

Weasley: I don't think he actually meant -

Nesbitt: You do know what happened to Brett Bannock in Batwing's Sales department, didn't you?

Weasley: Er I'd heard something happened to him, but not exactly what.

Nesbitt: It's not pretty. You might want to find out, just so you're informed.

Weasley: [silence]

Nesbitt: And then ?

Weasley: He shoved her into the Floo and sent her to a swamp somewhere.

Nesbitt: Old Mill Ruins, Haverford Swamp. A favored Death Eater jump point back in his father's day, now exposed.

Weasley: [silence]

Nesbitt: What happened after that?

Weasley: We talked just a little. We'd only got a few sentences in before you two showed up.

Nesbitt: And you grabbed his arm just as he Disapparated. Risky move on your part - to make a massive understatement.

Weasley: I thought he was going to curse you. I guess I wasn't thinking clearly. I certainly hadn't anticipated that he was going to Disapparate.

Nesbitt: Where did you reappear?

Weasley: I think it was Malfoy Manor. In a grand entry-hall of some sort.

Nesbitt: Did Malfoy try to curse you?

Weasley: [a pause] No, he never got that far. He was angry though. He said I had a lot to learn about being in a combat situation and if I ever grabbed his arm in the middle of a spell again he'd curse me to pieces.

Benkmann: [laughs]

Nesbitt: [seriously] You're lucky to be alive. He's killed for less.

Benkmann: [stops laughing]

Weasley: It was OK. He was just upset.

Nesbitt: And how did you get him to let you go?

Weasley: He kicked me out, actually. We were both pretty upset after we talked.

Nesbitt: And at that point you went home?

Weasley: Yes. He'd actually wanted me to go back to his office and explain to you that I wasn't kidnapped, but I guess you've figured that out by now.

Nesbitt: Yes. [drily] Actually he came and explained that himself. We were able to verify his story by contacting the Floo Authority and having the records checked.

Weasley: oh.

Nesbitt: You didn't know that, did you?

Weasley: No, I didn't.

Nesbitt: It was he who was kind enough to inform us that you were in the middle of a fight with your husband, making it possible for us to intervene before somebody got hurt.

Weasley: You mean before we calmed down, so you could haul me in for questioning.

Nesbitt: No matter. The point being, he provided the information.

Weasley: Unintentionally.

Nesbitt: I doubt it was unintentional at all. Malfoy knows exactly how the game is played.

Weasley: What game?

Nesbitt: He made a mistake in Apparating with someone else's wand where we could witness him doing it. Once he'd already done it, anything else we could prove him guilty of would only make matters worse for him. So it behooved him to clear up the matter of what had happened to you.

Weasley: Anything else you could...? There's no law against using someone else's _oh._ You want to get an order for an Apparition restraint charm."

Nesbitt: Clever girl.

Weasley: Arthur told me all about it - how you people have managed to get ahold of his Apparition records and want to use his past violations to justify taking his license, then justify the restraining charm by proving he can Apparate using wands other than his own. Well I think it's despicable! Harrassment like this is why the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was dismantled in the first place!

Nesbitt: [chuckles] Dismantled by those who had something to fear from it - and something to hide.

Weasley: How is he going to be a productive member of society if he can't even think about going anywhere - by any form of transportation - without getting a nasty electric shock and having Aurors come down on him?

Nesbitt: A productive member of society? Are you serious?

Weasley: Of course I'm serious! A person has to be able to go to work every day.

Nesbitt: Surely Arthur's showed you the figures, all the Muggles and Muggle-borns Malfoy's slaughtered in cold blood. How could he possibly do anything for society that would balance out that?

Weasley: [silence]

Nesbitt: [sound of rustling papers] This was removed from your home when you were brought in. I believe it was with materials given you by Sibyll Trelawney. I don't know how she got her hands on this, and it's not even complete, but I think it will help illustrate my point.

Weasley: [silence]

Nesbitt: It's a list of dead Muggles. They're all people where were killed on raids Malfoy led, or whose execution orders he handed down, or who he executed personally.

Weasley: I skipped over it I was looking for Batwing information.

Nesbitt: Is that so?

Weasley: That's my job.

Nesbitt: You didn't even read this? I find that difficult to believe.

Weasley: It's not really relevant to my work is it?

Nesbitt: [after a pause] Being willfully in denial about what Malfoy is isn't going to help you, you know.

Weasley: I'm not in denial. I'm just assuming he's innocent until proven guilty. You people obviously haven't been able to prove anything at all, or he'd be in Azkaban like his father.

Nesbitt: We may not be able to prove it to the Wizengamot, flush as its pockets are with his gold. However, we have plenty of evidence. Plenty of eyewitnesses. I've seen him commit murder myself.

Weasley: [silence]

Nesbitt: His technique is difficult to mistake. He Apparates right behind the intended victim, you see, and .

Weasley: Look, I don't think you should be -

Nesbitt: Don't you think you ought to know? Your parents could be the next targets. They're Muggles who know about the Wizarding world - exactly the sort of folks the Death Eaters want to eliminate completely.

Weasley: It's just a business relationship.

Nesbitt: He can Apparate silently so the person doesn't even know he's there .

Weasley: He's not the only one who can do Soft Apparition. There's nothing ominous about it, it's just a parlour trick. Can we talk about something else?

Nesbitt: You saw him do it when he attacked Agent Bangor, didn't you.

Weasley: It was self-defense, and and I told you I don't want to talk about it.

Nesbitt: He could have killed her when he did that. If he had been using his own wand, he probably would have. He had her in that headlock, and he'd already disarmed her .

Weasley: Why are you saying this? [upset]

Nesbitt: It's just an example. That's how he does it. The Killing Curse at point-blank range, and always in the back. Nobody else does it exactly the same way. That's how they can tell he was responsible when they autopsy the bodies.

Weasley: [silence]

Nesbitt: It's the Apparition skill, you see. Can you imagine trying to Apparate that near to someone when you're both moving? Anybody else would splinch themselves trying.

Weasley: [more silence]

Nesbitt: It only takes an instant. There's not enough time for them to react before it's done. This list -

Weasley: Please, I .

Nesbitt: Hundreds of Muggles, and that doesn't even include the Muggle-born witches and wizards he's done in. You-Know-Who sends him to execute other Death Eaters, too, when necessary. They don't stand a chance. It's hard to fight an enemy who can scout the area invisibly first and see exactly where to Apparate to get you.

Weasley: Invisibly ?

Nesbitt: He's taken Soft Apparition far beyond what anyone else has, far beyond simply appearing somewhere silently. He can Apparate partially - only far enough to spy, but not enough to manifest physically. He can nail his victim's position and movement in an instant, then reverse his first, partial Apparition and Apparate again in an eyeblink to murder them a moment later. Or he can partially Apparate to each room of a house in turn, making a note of who is where and return to report the details to the rest of a raiding party. Do you realize what an advantage this gives the Death Eaters during an attack?

Weasley: I can't even begin to im-

Nesbitt: It means they're never surprised when they Portkey into a Muggle home. They know exactly where all the victims are. It allows them to take on much larger groups can you imagine trying to slaughter an entire birthday party full of rambunctious young children and their parents in a timely fashion without knowing exactly where everybody was?

Weasley: No. [sounding ill]

Nesbitt: It also makes them nearly impossible to ambush. There simply isn't any way to set it up, because not even the Death Eaters going on the raid are told where it will be in advance. On the rare occasions one of our spies has managed to get the information back to us in time, Malfoy has caught the Aurors setting up and aborted the mission before any of them Portkeyed in.

Weasley: I see. [subdued]

Nesbitt: [sound of shuffling cloth, then a click of wood-on-wood] Speaking of Apparition, he was using this wand when he Disapparated with you, wasn't he?

Weasley: Yes, that's Gina White's.

Nesbitt: You had it with you at the Burrow how did you come by it, exactly?

Weasley: He wanted me to bring it back when I went to talk to you. Only I didn't go back to Batwing. So I still had it.

Nesbitt: He just handed it over to you? What is he using instead?

Weasley: Umm, well I asked him for it because he was really upset about the Apparition thing. I thought he was going to curse me. Then when I tried to give it back he told me to keep it. Bring it with.

Nesbitt: I think you were in more danger than you know.

Weasley: He was just upset because I almost got him killed. Anyone would have been upset over that.

Nesbitt: There were witnesses to your abduction, such as it was, and it wasn't his wand. That was probably all that saved you.

Weasley: I think it was a bit more than that!

Nesbitt: Oh? Do tell.

Weasley: [silence]

Nesbitt: [after a pause] I can see you're trying to see the good in Malfoy, and that's an admirable enough trait in business but this isn't about business.

Weasley: Yes it is!

Nesbitt: Not really. You're going to get sucked into the other aspect of his life whether you want to or not, and I'll tell you why. It's because there is no Batwing. There is no business enterprise, there is no legitimate reason for Malfoy to do any of this. Only sinister reasons.

Weasley: There is most certainly a Batwing.

Nesbitt: There used to be. All that's left is a dying ruin. And your client, Draco Malfoy, is using that ruined vestige of a company as a front for something else, something unspeakably evil.

Weasley: How can you be so sure?

Nesbitt: It's in his nature. Are you aware of how near he came to holding a monopoly on -

Weasley: That's ridiculous. That entire Muggle monopoly charge was ridiculous. Malfoy doesn't even think Muggles are human - they're like animals to him. And he doesn't seem that well educated about them - how could you possibly believe he did that on purpose? It has to have been an accident.

Nesbitt: [after a pause] You underestimate him. That's not a very good idea, you know. He'll use that against you.

Weasley: I've seen how he thinks. He hasn't changed much since I knew him at Hogwarts.

Nesbitt: Oh, he's prejudiced against Muggles, I'll grant you that. And there's a lot he doesn't know about them - much he doesn't care about, or really doesn't want to know. However, there's very little Malfoy is incapable of when given a direct order by he-who-must-not-be-named. And trying to get his enemies to underestimate him is one of his most oft-used tricks. He'd be in Azkaban right now if he hadn't managed to cast sufficient doubt on his motives in creating that monopoly.

Weasley: Azkaban? For breaking Muggle law?

Nesbitt: Given the precise industry he'd chosen to dominate - yes.

Weasley: Which was?

Nesbitt: The United Kingdom's defense industry.

Weasley: The defense industry? But -

Nesbitt: Think of the havoc he could have wreaked. Can you imagine what You-Know-Who could do with weapons of mixed Muggle and Magical design?

Weasley: That's utterly insane. Malfoy isn't capable of that kind of - it's ridiculous.

Nesbitt: Isn't capable of what?

Weasley: The kind of intense, extended research into the Muggle economy and knowledge of that particular industry that would be required. The sort of coordinated effort and long term commitment needed to bring off such a feat. Malfoy just isn't that person. He wouldn't be even if he didn't have giant blind spots where Muggles are concerned. That monopoly was an accident - if it ever existed at all - and you know it.

Nesbitt: [a rustle of plastic evidence bag] Have you seen this?

Weasley: That? [a pause] I think it's Malfoy's Batwing Knowitall. He was supposed to give it to me at one of our meetings, but Arthur said you stole it when the tan-robes were searching him. He gave it back to me to return to Malfoy, but I never got a chance.

Nesbitt: Have you seen its contents?

Weasley: No. As I said, we never had a chance to-

Nesbitt: I have.

Weasley: [a pause] and?

Nesbitt: I think when you do see it you'll have to revise your opinion on Malfoy's ability to analyze a deeply complicated situation and make incisive decisions in unfamiliar settings.

Weasley: People say he's only good for tackling problems that take ten minutes to solve, then resting on his laurels for a day or two.

Nesbitt: Ah, well, you've obviously been talking to people who believe in the lie he chooses to project.

Weasley: Well even from what I've seen with my own eyes. There's a definite lack of self-discipline.

Nesbitt: Lack of discipline? You've seen him Apparate with someone else's wand, during a moment of extreme stress, with an unexpected passenger, and pull it off - and you can call him undisciplined?

Weasley: He has incredible reflexes. I'll say that for him.

Nesbitt: This is more than just reflex. Do you know how many years it takes to learn that kind of Apparition skill? To develop new techniques like the ones he uses on raids? Obsessive dedication doesn't even begin to cover it.

Weasley: There's a big difference between obsession and discipline. If a person is obsessed, and they're doing what they're obsessed with, they don't need any discipline. They can just give in to their urges.

Nesbitt: true. However, going into combat on a daily basis requires a lot of discipline.

Weasley: Unless someone or something is forcing one to do it. In that case it only requires being more afraid of the punishment than the work.

Nesbitt: You don't think Malfoy is capable of discipline.

Weasley: His friends don't think he's capable of it, and they probably know him better than anyone.

Nesbitt: [thoughtfully] And how did you come to know what his friends think of him?

Weasley: Just overhearing what people have said.

Nesbitt: Are you sure you weren't meant to overhear?

Weasley: Very sure.

Nesbitt: Interesting. I don't think I agree, but it's interesting that they believe that. I'm going to show you a list. A different list. [sound of papers ruffling] Does this mean anything to you?

Weasley: [a pause] They're all charities and activist groups.

Nesbitt: Groups that Draco Malfoy either chairs, or takes an active role in beyond simply donating money.

Weasley: Oh.

Nesbitt: Or rather he _did_ take an active role. Until tonight.

Weasley: oh?

Nesbitt: He's been resigning from them en masse. We believe his goal is to leave every group mentioned on this list as soon as possible.

Weasley: [sounding amazed] Really!

Nesbitt: Do you know anything about this?

Weasley: No!

Nesbitt: Didn't you suggest he do just that, in order to spend more time at Batwing?

Weasley: I told him that if he wanted to take Mr. Batten's place at Batwing he'd have to put in more hours there. I suggested he might be able to make more time by not going to so many meetings in the evenings and perhaps not being active in so many organizations. But he didn't react well at all when I suggested that!

Nesbitt: What did he say?

Weasley: He said it would be sabotaging himself politically. Actually he didn't like many of my suggestions at all, and became rather upset with me. We had to stop talking about it.

Nesbitt: I see. So you didn't think he would follow your advice?

Weasley: No. At least not without a lot more convincing. This really is a surprise. You say he's resigned most of these? [sound of rustling papers]

Nesbitt: He's gone through the top twelve on the list in the last five hours. We think his intention is to get to them all as soon as possible. This is a copy of a list we found in his handwriting on his desk at Batwing, with the top five already crossed off. What we don't know is whether he was actually following your advice, or if he's doing it for some other reason. What do you think?

Weasley: I don't know what to say. I did suggest but I don't really know him well enough to say for sure. I thought I was going to have to work on him a lot more.

Nesbitt: He could be using your advice as a coverup for something else he's working on something more sinister than Batwing. What did he tell you regarding his quitting the Ministry?

Weasley: Didn't he get sacked?

Nesbitt: That's what it said in the media, but that isn't necessarily accurate.

Weasley: You think he quit?

Nesbitt: It seems more in character, doesn't it?

Weasley: [silence]

Nesbitt: Had you talked to him about it?

Weasley: Not afterward. I was sort of afraid to bring it up, to be honest. I had suggested he take a leave of absence. I assumed he was sacked as a result of asking for it so I figured there would be hard feelings.

Nesbitt: He and Patterson go back for years and years. I doubt Patterson would fire him.

Weasley: You do think he quit on purpose, then.

Nesbitt: Most likely, and Patterson cooperated by pretending it was a firing.

Weasley: I see.

Nesbitt: Now being as honest as possible, both with me and with yourself - do you think Draco Malfoy would listen to what you, Hermione Weasley the Muggle-born daughter-in-law of his enemies, has to say? Do you think he'd not only listen, but act on every one of your recommendations within hours of your making them?

Weasley: [a long silence, then finally:] Not really.

Nesbitt: I didn't think so.

Weasley: [silence]

Nesbitt: And what of his reasons for taking up Batwing as a project in the first place? Has he said anything at all to you, either believable or not?

Weasley: [after a very long pause, and sounding rather subdued] I asked, but he wouldn't tell me.

Nesbitt: That's just it. He hasn't told anybody. Not you, Mr. Patterson, not his friends. The only other people who might possibly know what he's up to are all Death Eaters, and none of our moles have been able to get them to admit it.

Weasley: [silence]

Nesbitt: What do you have to say to that? Do you have any idea of why he might be doing it? Any guesses hunches .

Weasley: Well .

Nesbitt: Well?

Weasley: First he said it was because he wanted to, and he didn't need any other reason.

Nesbitt: I see.

Weasley: Then when I asked again, he said I would learn to work around not knowing, if I knew what was good for me.

Nesbitt: To me that reeks of an upper-echelon Death Eater plot. Did Arthur tell you about the Memoralias Charm?

Weasley: Yes, he made it sound as if the Death Eaters gave it to Malfoy and use it to check up on him. I'm still not sure if I believe that though.

Nesbitt: That they check up on him? Or that the Memoralias Charm was given him by them?

Weasley: Either one.

Nesbitt: Well, but you do agree it is a Memoralias Charm?

Weasley: Oh, yes. I recognized it right away.

Nesbitt: Then I expect it doesn't really matter where he got it, does it? Simply the possibility of a Death Eater one day seeing the contents of that charm would prevent Malfoy from blabbing the wrong secrets to anybody who isn't supposed to know them. After all, not even a Malfoy can fail You-Know-Who and get away with it. His father proved that.

Weasley: [after a long pause] I see. [and an ever longer pause] Why do _you_ think Malfoy is doing the Batwing project?

Nesbitt: Batwing is a sham. He's using it to cover up for something else. Something so important he's willing to work with you to accomplish it. Something only he and perhaps one or two select others know about.

Weasley: But what _is_ that something?

Nesbitt: That's the Million Galleon question, isn't it?

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Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please Review!


	29. The Million Galleon Question

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

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**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

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Chapter 29: The Million Galleon Question

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"I told you, I refuse to accept your bribes!" hissed Hermione.

The clerk raised his eyes to her briefly, then went back to counting gold, pretending he hadn't heard.

"Think of it as a loan," drawled Malfoy. "However, if you jump bail -"

"I won't," she said firmly.

"- that really wouldn't be a loan then, would it?" he continued smoothly. "More of a -"

"I don't intend to jump bail," said Hermione through her teeth. "Why have you even come? I didn't ask anyone to owl you about this!"

There was a short pause.

"You may find this difficult to believe," said Malfoy, "but it wasn't much of a leap to deduce on my own that you'd require my assistance."

"But I don't require your -"

"Well, it's not as if you have the funds, is it?"

"No, but-"

"And your brothers-in-law - what are their names again? - well, you might not be aware of this, but their business is profoundly in debt to Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical. They're certainly in no position to be putting their holiday season earnings into bailing you out of a Domestic Disturbances fix."

Hermione seethed. "I know perfectly well what Fred and George's financial situation is, Malfoy, and you had better not be using their debt to you to bully them!"

She would have thought he'd be enjoying her frustration - that would be just like Malfoy, wouldn't it? - but when she glanced back in his direction, his expression was humorless and scowling. The blue pre-dawn light coming in the Department of Domestic Disturbances' grimy front windows did not flatter his too-pale complexion, and he looked haggard and ill-groomed besides, as if he'd had a rough night. In fact, he looked so bad she'd almost doubted his identity when they'd first brought her out to meet him.

Not that she herself must look much better. Nesbitt had kept her awake through the wee hours of the morning, trying to get every bit of information out of her he could (and, quite frankly, trying to pump her as full of his own theories and point-of-view as he could). She'd managed scarcely an hour of sleep on the hard bunk in her cell before the guards had rousted her to inform her someone was paying her bail. There had been no opportunity to clean herself up or change clothing since her capture the night before, and she was sure she looked more than a mess.

"Here is your receipt, Mr. Malfoy," said the clerk. "And Mrs. Weasley, if you would sign here for your possessions?"

Malfoy plucked the receipt out of the clerk's hand and neatly interposed himself between Hermione and the counter, presenting the receipt to her.

"You should keep this," he said.

"How many times do I have to say no?" demanded Hermione. "I won't take your money."

"Simply hold the receipt until after your trial. Somebody must collect the bail when it is returned, and I certainly don't plan on attending your trial myself. You can give the money back to me afterward... at your convenience. Assuming you didn't need it for anything, that is."

Of course he expected her to keep the money, and then she'd be obligated to him in ways she did not want to be obligated. Malfoy and his damned bribe attempts! It was enough to make her want to gouge out her own eyes with her fingernails. Or his eyes for that matter.

Hermione's teeth ground together harder. After a bit of strict self-control, she managed to say "No, thank you. You took it upon yourself to pay it, so you'll just have to get it back afterward yourself. Now if you don't mind?"

She pushed ahead to sign for her possessions, and Malfoy narrowed his eyes and backed away. He stood there watching her closely, still fingering the receipt, as she filled out the paperwork. Hermione wanted to snap at him to please piss off, but reminded herself that antagonizing him unnecessarily was hardly going to help her already difficult assignment. And he _had_ gotten her out of jail, after all. Much as it pained her to admit it, she'd probably needed the rescue. She'd used her one legally permitted owling to send an update on her situation to Ron, but had never heard anything back. And where was Arthur? Surely Arthur could have gotten her released by now, if he'd really tried?

The clerk pushed a cardboard box with her things in it across the counter. It was immediately apparent that the box wasn't large enough to contain everything the Aurors had grabbed when they arrested her. Hermione groaned internally when she realized Trelawney's papers had been confiscated. Trelawney was going to have an absolute fit when she found out Hermione had lost them, even if it was to Aurors. Maybe especially if it was to Aurors.

Malfoy seemed to be trying to peer inside the box without her noticing.

"Do you want to see?" asked Hermione in irritation. She pushed the box down the counter in his direction.

Malfoy stepped forward just far enough to be able to give the contents a cursory glance.

"It isn't much, is it?" he said disdainfully. He threw the receipt into the box. "I'll expect you at Batwing on Monday at 6AM." He turned and stalked out of the building, letting the front door slap shut behind him.

Hermione felt a headache coming on.

"Pleasant fellow," offered the clerk.

"Not really," muttered Hermione. Well, at least he was gone. She began to retrieve her wand, spare change, and so forth from the box. It was soon back in her pockets once again.

All except for the receipt.

She looked at it lying there at the bottom of the box. It was worth a great deal of money. It wasn't as much money to Malfoy as it would be to Ron and her, but she couldn't in good conscience walk away and just leave it there. She sighed and picked it up, vowing to make Malfoy take it back at the earliest possible opportunity.

* * *

Outside, the sun had come up over the horizon and burned through the mist to bathe the street in gold-edged light. The air was cool, and dew still clung to the cobblestones and sidewalks in the long shadows.

The Department of Domestic Disturbances headquarters was located on a mostly Wizarding block of Bigglescroft Lane in London. The street itself was not closed to Muggles by any means, so during business hours Muggle passersby would stroll obliviously past Wizarding storefronts like Madam Moochevsky's Charm School and Furheart & Clawhold's Living Hairpieces for Him. There were even Muggle cars parked bumper to bumper along both sides of the street.

Directly across from the Triple-D HQ was an establishment that Hermione knew very well - or once had, anyway. This was Ernie's, a café famous for being frequented by witches and wizards of a more liberal-minded bent. It had a colorfully painted mural of plants and butterflies on its brick façade, the windowsills inside the glass were stuffed with potted flowers, and the windows themselves were filled with radical political posters that said things like _Hug a Muggle_ and _You-Know-Who can kiss my You-Know-What!_

There'd been a time when Hermione had been extremely active in politics and in lobbying for causes. For many years she'd attended meetings and met friends at Ernie's several times a week. It had been almost like a home to her. The twins and Christopher had grown up playing on the floor of Ernie's, among the feet of Muggle sympathizers and elf-rights enthusiasts.

But then, things had gotten ugly. A series of events best forgotten had led to Hermione's ousting from S.P.E.W., an organization she herself had founded and had poured her heart into. Angry, confused, and embittered, she'd come to shun the "active community" as a quagmire of too-young, too-inexperienced hotheads who were not worth spending time around and didn't know anything about how the world really worked. She told herself she had better things to spend her time on - like work, like raising her family, like being with her husband.

But it was only a year later that little Christopher opened the fateful piece of fanmail containing the nude picture of a witch who in retrospect was probably Sheila Lasherton.

* * *

Someone's foot scuffed on pavement, clear and audible from behind her and to her right.

She had believed herself to be alone with her thoughts, and spun startled to discover Draco Malfoy lurking in the shadows alongside the building. The Muggle-repellant wards on Triple-D must have fooled her peripheral vision; because she was Muggle-born, that did sometimes happen, especially if what was hidden didn't move. However now that she'd heard him and was looking head-on, she could see him perfectly easily.

"What are you still doing here?" she asked.

He drew himself up from where he'd been leaning against the wall. His expression was guarded. "Not that it is any of your business, but I'm waiting for a Portkey."

"A Portkey?" she repeated. Yes, there was a Public Portkey hanging on the nearest Muggle telephone pole. It resembled a huge iron bolt running through the pole, from which was suspended a large iron ring that three or four people would be able to get their hands on at once. Muggles who came by would simply think people were waiting for the Muggle bus that also stopped there. But why would Malfoy of all people....

Suddenly it dawned on her. Malfoy was entirely wandless! When she'd left his Manor the night before she'd been carrying the evidence bags containing his primary wand and his spare, and she'd also taken Gina White's wand that he had been using. Now all three of them were in the hands of Auror Special Operations.

That was why he was looking even worse than usual today, she realized. He had no wand, so he could not perform the simplest of vanity charms. From what the Aurors had said as they cast _Priori Incantatum_ on his wand before, Malfoy was accustomed to using a lot of them.

Now that she knew what she was looking at, the details made it obvious. His hair was longer than the glamors had allowed it to seem before, curling about his jawline and getting into his eyes. His coloration was even more washed-out than it usually appeared, his hair an uninspiring off-white, his skin unhealthily pale and his eyes cold and lifeless. And there were scars, dozens of them, marring the elegance of his throat and hands. They'd been magically healed and would have been nearly invisible on anyone else, but his skin was less forgiving than most.

He shifted his weight irritably, and Hermione realized she was staring.

"Oh!" she said hastily. "I'm terribly sorry. I hadn't realized you were wandless... but I suppose I should have."

"Yes, you should have," he agreed unpleasantly. "Well? Haven't you anything better to be doing?"

She glanced again at Ernie's café.

Malfoy followed her gaze. His expression hardened.

"Just breakfast," she said. "I hadn't decided beyond that."

"Well, then you had best be off to do that, hadn't you?" he sneered. He rudely turned his back on her, moved away from the building to the curb and telephone pole. There he gripped the Portkey ring and proceeded to pretend as if she were no longer there.

_Git,_ she thought. Well, that was one thing that hadn't changed over the last decade or two.

She reached into her pocket and got out the receipt for her bail, took a step toward his back.

"I'm not keeping this," she said.

He didn't react for a long time. She thought about simply dropping it and leaving it up to him to decide whether to pick it up or not, just as he had done to her.

"I'm not taking that back," he said finally, without looking at her.

"Fine," she said, and did let it fall. It fluttered down, blown by a light breeze, and fell into the gutter. After a moment, it flipped over and blew a few meters farther down, edging away between the curb and the cars.

Malfoy scowled, trying to pretend he didn't know what she'd done, but the white outlines of his knuckles under the skin attested to how hard he was gripping the ring. He looked furious and frustrated.

_Well, he should be glad I won't be bought,_ thought Hermione defiantly. _He should be glad!_

But the whole thing left a bad taste in her mouth.

* * *

The inside of Ernie's Café was warm and filled with a cheerful light. The floors and furniture were of polished oak, the walls decorated with colorful weavings, paintings, and sculptures. All celebrated diversity, freedom and peace - there had clearly been no change in the nature of the place since Hermione had last been there.

However, there was no one at all Hermione recognized. She hadn't really expected to see _everybody_ she'd known, but she'd thought there would be at least someone. Most of the witches and wizards clustered in the booths seemed awfully young until she recalled that she herself had been just out of Hogwarts when she started coming here.

Feeling a bit sad and nostalgic, Hermione allowed the hostess to seat her in a empty booth along the front windows. She used her wand and a pocket mirror to try to clean herself up a bit, but her mind was anywhere but her face.

She had a lot to think about, not the least of it Ron's failure to respond to her owl and Arthur's failure to intervene when Auror Special Operations went too far with his own family. Just wondering about his possible motives and reasoning was enough to make her budding headache come on in earnest.

And then there was her own reaction to being incarcerated. It wasn't just the idea of it, though that was bad enough. There had been something powerfully disturbing about having actually been arrested and subjected to interrogation all night. Throughout the entire experience she hadn't known whether to laugh or cry, but had felt like doing both. Knowing intellectually that she wasn't in any real danger had done nothing to save her from the primitive gut-level feelings of entrapment and humiliation. It was going to be a long time before she forgot that. But would it be so long before it happened again?

* * *

She shifted her eyes to look out the window, and saw Malfoy still waiting for the Portkey. If the schedules hadn't changed much in the last several years, he could be waiting as long as an hour and a half.

He'd abandoned the Portkey ring itself, however. The sun had peeked around another building, flooding the sidewalk with strengthening light. He'd retreated from that and was leaning against the wall of the Department of Domestic Disturbances building in the protection of one of the remaining strips of shadow. She wondered what he was thinking. About his son? About Batwing? About Nesbitt's Million Galleon Question?

Hermione turned away from the window and made herself look through the menu instead. She recognized a few of the "house specialties" from years before, like the "Vol... You Know" Sandwich (breaded vole on toast with red onions and hollandaise sauce) and Ernie's Blue Plate Special (an ordinary greasy-spoon style breakfast, only bright blue). She tried to decide what to order, but found her eyes wandering to the rest of the café instead. The other patrons looked mostly to be Wizarding University students, perhaps from the Muggle Relations or Political Magic programs at the Cornice Stone Knowledge Place school which was only two Portkey stops or an easy Apparition away. That is, if those programs still existed at that school. Her knowledge of its course catalog was about ten years out of date.

None of the students gave any sign of recognizing her.

* * *

The more she thought about it, the more surreal her situation seemed. It was as if she'd been asleep for ten years and was only now waking up and getting a good look around her.

Here she was - _she,_ Hermione Granger - sitting in Ernie's and not one single person knew who she was. Meanwhile, she'd just spent the night in jail, her husband was a cheat, her boss was a flake, and Draco for God's sake Malfoy was more active in S.P.E.W. than she was. If that wasn't pathetic, she didn't know what was.

Something had gone horribly wrong with her life, something that had crept up on her so subtly that she couldn't even think back to when it might have begun. Sure, she had stopped being politically active when she'd been kicked out of S.P.E.W., but it had to have started before that. Some deep unhappiness, some fundamental dissatisfaction, had been dragging her down and making her efforts less than half-hearted well before that.

But try as she might, she could not put a finger on when and what it was.

* * *

Now there were two more people at the bus stop, a witch and a wizard dressed - ridiculously, of course - in Muggle clothing. They were standing near the telephone pole with their hands curled around the Portkey ring, waiting. They kept glancing over their shoulders at Malfoy leaning against the wall behind them. First one looked, and then the other. Then they whispered to each other.

Malfoy was far too famous to get away with standing about on a street corner without being recognized by every passerby and Portkey patron who wasn't a Muggle, and of course on this block many people wouldn't be. She imagined he wouldn't be too pleased by being recognized in that setting, particularly alone and unarmed.

As Hermione watched, the man turned and spoke to Malfoy. They seemed to have some sort of argument, and then Malfoy abruptly left the strip of shadow and moved to another one farther from the bus stop. This one was was much narrower and offered scarcely any protection from the sun at all.

Muggles were starting to put in an appearance, probably people on their way to work at early-opening shops and such. Two or three of them walked past as Hermione watched, and each time Malfoy went absolutely still, giving the Muggle-repellant wards on the buildings the best possible chance of preventing one of them from seeing him. Not that it was really necessary, but it couldn't hurt.

Hermione wouldn't have thought he had much experience with close-range Muggle wards, since he seemed the type to avoid Muggles and their places at every opportunity. Then again, he might not have learned this freezing technique on the street. He might have learned it with the Death Eaters, under combat shielding.

* * *

The next time Hermione looked up, she was startled to see Malfoy stalking purposefully across the street toward Ernie's Café.

She bit her lip. What on earth was he doing? For him, almost universally suspected to be a Death Eater, to waltz into a place like Ernie's was tantamount to a suicide attempt. Yes, pro-Muggle types were usually a good deal less violent than their anti-Muggle counterparts, but Malfoy's big mouth and intensely irritating attitude could probably change that in a matter of seconds.

He disappeared out of her range of view. She was certain he'd be stopped at the door, but after a short time he reappeared inside of Ernie's, sauntering towards her unintercepted.

His pale eyes straked the room and its occupants boldly, almost a challenge. No, it _was_ a challenge - but most of those who saw him were too shocked to react before his attention had moved on. They goggled, then leaned to get their companions' attentions behind his back.

When he reached Hermione's booth, he slid into it as if she'd been waiting for him all along.

"What on earth are you doing in here?" she hissed. "You'll be lynched!"

"I'd like to see them try," said Malfoy.

"They look like they very well might," said Hermione.

He followed her glance over to a group of students clustered in the corner, who were now whispering to one another and sending dirty looks his way.

Hermione could just imagine what they were saying:

_"Hey wait a minute... isn't that Draco Malfoy?"  
"Where?"  
"Over there... by that girl."  
"That's no girl, that's Hermione Granger."  
"Who?"  
"That woman, talking to that Malfoy-looking fellow? It's Hermione Granger."  
"Merlin, you're right. I thought she died or something."  
"No, no, she's been around. She's got five kids at Hogwarts."  
"No kidding! Well what's she been doing?"  
"Beats me. Nothing, I think."_

"They're harmless," said Malfoy dismissively. Hermione wondered if he knew Nesbitt would say the same about him in his current wandless state.

"Look," she said, leaning forward so she could speak quietly. "I don't think you should be here."

"I don't think I should be here either," he said, "but I'm not going to stand around out there with all of those Muggles."

Hermione glanced out the window and saw there were even more people at the bus stop - six Muggles, and the couple on the Portkey ring had been joined by an additional wizard.

Malfoy withdrew a flask from an inner pocket and took a quick gulp from it. Hermione caught a whiff of the increasingly familiar scent of Ogden's whiskey. She wondered if that's what he'd been doing out there the whole time - drinking and trying to get up the courage to brave Ernie's and thereby avoid more contact with Muggles.

"You know, you'd have a lot more energy if you'd take better care of your liver," she said.

His expression froze in momentary confusion. "My liver?" he repeated.

"Yes, the liver is responsible for many important elements of the chemical makeup of the blood, as well as converting sugar to glycogen and other critical functions," Hermione began. "Excessive alcohol consumption can damage the liver, and cause -"

"This is one of those ridiculous Muggle superstitions, isn't it?" he interrupted suspiciously.

"It's called _science," _said Hermione primly, "and you'd do well to pay more attention to it if you want to keep your health and live a long -"

"Listen Weasley," said Malfoy, annoyed. "I'm going to overlook that in the interests of getting through this Batwing process with as little pain as possible. But if you want me to stay off the subject of your husband then you'd damn well better stay off the subject of my health. And don't you ever repeat that Muggle _science_ to me again. It doesn't reflect well on you, and _I _really couldn't give a damn what the latest fashion in Muggle beliefs is."

"It's just that excessive drinking can damage your liver," Hermione attempted to explain.

"Yes, and Ron Weasley is a -"

"All right, all right," said Hermione quickly. "I won't mention it again."

Malfoy smiled thinly and returned the flask to its pocket.

Hermione saw a waiter that had been talking to some of the students was now coming towards her and Malfoy, a determined expression on his face.

"Don't look now," she said, "but I think they're coming to throw you out."

"They can't throw me out," he said. "They're all for equal rights, aren't they?"

She glanced again at the waiter - he was young, a kid just out of school. Malfoy would walk all over him.

"Maybe they wouldn't literally throw you out, but I think it'd be better if you just -"

Too late. The kid planted himself in front of the table.

"Aren't you Draco Malfoy?" he demanded.

Hermione's heart started pounding hard. Here it was. The moment of confrontation.

Malfoy pretended not to notice him for a moment. He appeared to be engrossed in massaging his left forearm with the fingers of his right hand. After a long pause, he looked up at the kid looming over him.

"And if I am?" he said, his insulting drawl identifying him instantly for anyone who had ever heard him quoted on the news.

"You _are_ him!" gasped the waiter.

"And you are the waiter," said Malfoy. "I hope. If not, what does it take to get served around here? I'm half-starved."

Pure Malfoy. The kid didn't know how to handle it. As Malfoy sat looking up at him, fingertips delicately probing along his forearm, the kid remained speechless for a long moment.

And then he gritted his teeth and turned away, going back to the doors of the kitchen into which he disappeared.

"Malfoy," said Hermione quietly, "did you have to antagonize him?"

"No," he said. "I could have stayed outside on the curb."

"Look what you're doing. You're rubbing... _it,"_ she said. "You don't have to draw _attention_ to it!"

"What on earth are you babbling about now, Weasley?" he asked, lazily. But he smoothed the expensive fabric of his robe sleeve and removed his hand from the vicinity of where a Dark Mark would be on his arm.

"Now he's gone into the kitchen he's probably going to get the owner to tell you to leave."

"And you'll tell them I'm with you."

"I'm not sure that will do any -"

The double-doors to the kitchen slapped open again and a bulky older witch wearing colorful robes and a greasy apron barged out of them. She was holding a flowery painted stick that looked suspiciously like an old combat stave in disguise. Hermione recognized her as Emelda Figueroa, who was indeed one of the owners.

There was no matching burst of recognition in the other's face, however. In fact Emelda didn't even notice Hermione. She scanned the room for Malfoy, found him, and charged toward him brandishing her stick.

"You!" said Emelda, her dark eyes burning with hatred. "You're not wanted here."

"How tedious," Malfoy said, lounging in his half of the booth with absolutely no evidence of fear. "Do you treat all your customers like this, or only those with the money and connections to have your restaurant license revoked permanently?" His wand hand toyed with Hermione's forgotten menu.

Emelda's fists met her hips. "I'd like to see you try, you slimy Death Eater," she said loudly. Heads turned all over the café as the few who hadn't already been following the proceedings became very interested indeed.

"Er," said Hermione in a much lower voice. "Malfoy, maybe you'd better let me handle this."

"I can handle myself," said Malfoy, eyes never leaving Emelda's.

"This is exactly what it looks like and I'm not afraid to use it," said Emelda, lifting the combat stave again. "This is your last warning."

"I see. Illegal possession of military grade weaponry," said Malfoy. "Well, that should make for a nice clean takedown."

Hermione suspected he meant a legal takedown of Ernie's, not a literal takedown of himself.

"Er, look," she said diffidently. "Emelda. I realize this is a bit of a shock, but believe me, he didn't come here to cause trouble. He's just waiting for the Portkey."

Emelda swung around to look at Hermione.

"Do I know you?" the older witch demanded. Then recognition finally dawned. "Hermione Granger!" she exclaimed in shock. "What on earth...." her eyes darted to Malfoy, then back to Hermione. "Why, it's been years and years!"

"Probably close to ten," Hermione admitted.

"But what have you been doing this whole time? You haven't -" the eyes flicked toward Malfoy again. " _joined_ ."

"Ha," said Malfoy.

"Oh, no," said Hermione. "I've been working for a consultancy, business mostly. My youngest is off to Hogwarts this year, though, so -" she voiced an idea that had only just occurred to her and wasn't really fully formed yet "- I hope I will have more time for activism now."

"What are you doing with ." Emelda jabbed the combat stave in Malfoy's direction; apparently he didn't even rate a pronoun in her book.

"Nothing," said Hermione. _Oh, that's brilliant. _"Just breakfast," she amended. "The company I work for has his company Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical as a client."

"Bringing this..." (Emelda glanced pointedly at Malfoy) _"...here_ was in extremely poor taste," she said.

"Believe me," said Hermione, "it wasn't at all my idea."

"Bailing you out of jail at the crack of dawn wasn't exactly what I had planned on doing this morning either," interjected Malfoy, "but we can't always have what we want, can we?"

Hermione felt her face instantly grow red hot. What little reputation she had left was going to be in absolute shreds by the time she managed to escape from this situation.

"And now," continued Malfoy, this time addressing Emelda, "since this _is _still a restaurant - at least for the time being - perhaps you should simply serve us breakfast, which is what we're here for, and leave the histrionics and posturing for another time? The Blue Plate Special for me, and whatever Weasley's usual is for her."

"Jail?" repeated Emelda. "At Triple-D? What for?"

Malfoy cast Hermione a sly look and she could swear he was enjoying this.

"It's a long story," she said, as her headache stabbed harder. The last thing she wanted was to get embroiled in a long discussion of why she'd been in a domestic dispute, why the Aurors would want to question her and why she had to be bailed out of jail by a suspected Death Eater. Good grief. If she hadn't been aware that her life was in a shambles already, she certainly would have come to realize it now. "Look ." She lowered her voice. "I promise Malfoy won't cause any trouble, all right? If he does, I'll take responsibility for getting him out of here before anyone gets hurt."

"I thought I knew you," said Emelda, doubt and distrust all over her face. "But now I'm sure I don't. The Hermione Granger I knew would never have associated with a Death Eater at all. Much less brought one here."

With a final unfriendly glare, she turned and marched back into the kitchen.

All around the restaurant, students and other diners huddled whispering frantically.

"I'll never be able to show my face here again," said Hermione.

"Now you know how I feel about working with you at all," said Malfoy. His voice was mild enough, but the hint of amusement was gone from his eyes.

After that, there was only uncomfortable silence.

That, and the thudding of Hermione's headache, which had just increased tenfold.

* * *

When Emelda returned some fifteen minutes later, she brought with her a Blue Plate Special and a cinnamon bun. The cinnamon bun had indeed been Hermione's usual for breakfast oh so many years ago; she felt guilty that Emelda had remembered.

After placing the bun in front of Hermione, Emelda all but threw the Blue Plate Special at Malfoy. It clattered onto the table in front of him, spilling brilliant blue toast everywhere. He picked up a piece of toast by its corner, took in its appearance, then shot Emelda an incredulous look.

"It's supposed to look like that," said Hermione.

"I see," said Malfoy in disgust. He then proceeded to ignore Emelda completely in favor of taking a bite out of the toast. It left a blue stain on his mouth.

_She'll poison him, _thought Hermione suddenly. _It would be so easy._

But as she watched, he began to drink the blue tea and devour the blue buttered toast and eggs and sausages with no evidence of concern. She realized that he had as little fear of Emelda as he had of the students. He must honestly think the witch couldn't, or wouldn't, try to actually do anything to him, combat stave or no. And he was probably right.

Yet, there was a lot of hatred of him here. Hatred born not of definite knowledge, but of suspicion - a suspicion that he was, indeed, a Death Eater, perhaps one who had slaughtered hundreds of Muggles. All it would take was one restaurant employee who was convinced, who was sure that he was that dangerous, and suddenly a bit of poison would seem a small matter to attend to.

Emelda Figueroa stood watching him for a bit longer, an expression of purest loathing all over her face. Then, almost reluctantly, she turned and disappeared back into the kitchen again.

"You know, you really ought to be more careful," said Hermione, keeping her voice down. "They hate you here."

Malfoy gave no sign of having heard her words.

"Last night," said Hermione, "Nesbitt showed me this list of hundreds of Muggle names and said you were responsible for all their deaths. Either by murdering them yourself, or by giving the order. It's hard to ignore something like that, even not knowing if it's true."

Malfoy grimaced and set down his tea cup. "A poor choice in table conversation, Weasley."

"Well it's true, people think you did all of that," she said.

Malfoy glanced at the tables full of students, all of whom were now arguing among each other and sending death glares his way.

"This isn't the time or place for that sort of talk," he said.

"Only if you have anything to hide," she pointed out.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Of course I have something to hide," he hissed. "Why else do you think I have the Aurors after me? Use the brain you were given, woman! Even a Mudblood ought to have been able to figure that out."

* * *

Hermione was so taken aback by this response that she could think of nothing immediate to say.

When even Malfoy castigated her for her denial, what choice did she have but to believe? Of course he was a Death Eater. She'd seen the Dark Mark on his arm in the photos. Of course he'd committed murder. Maybe not all the Muggles on that list of Nesbitt's, but over the years he had to have killed at least once. Or more than once. Many times, maybe. She'd seen him in combat, or something near enough to it. That kind of skill and confidence didn't come out of nowhere. It would have taken years to develop.

She watched as Malfoy continued scarfing down his breakfast and drinking some more tea. She didn't understand how he could eat food given him by his enemies without fear. She didn't understand how he could stomach anything at all when she was talking about hundreds of people dead.

"Nesbitt's list, then," she said quietly. "Is it true? All of those Muggles?"

There was a pause, and then he looked up at her. She forced herself to meet his eyes, and found herself riveted by his face. It should have been beautiful, with his pureblood genes and proud carriage. But it was thin and cruel instead, and the eyes were utterly soulless.

"You shouldn't believe everything Nesbitt tells you," he said.

"I know," she replied automatically. But those eyes told her there was no hope that he was innocent. Emelda was right. He was a monster. She dropped her gaze.

"Nesbitt's just trying to use you to get to me," said Malfoy. It had the sound of an often-repeated line. "The things he tells you could be all lies - he wouldn't care. You saw how he used those SPCMA people to attack me. The warrant wasn't even for owl fighting. And still they went through with that preposterous seizure because they're too afraid of Nesbitt to do anything else."

_But you are the kind of person who would set an owl to attack another owl, aren't you? _she thought.

"He's obsessed," continued Malfoy. "He has been for years - he'll trample anybody he has to if he thinks it will produce the results he wants. Even Arthur Weasley's daughter-in-law."

_And you wouldn't?_ thought Hermione.

"It all goes back to my father. Nesbitt spent the first half of his life trying to take my father down and keep him down, and failed miserably. When it finally did happen it was Potter, not him, who succeeded. Nesbitt hated that. He didn't rest until he'd made Potter pay, and he's been making me pay ever since."

Was that really true? Had Nesbitt made Harry Potter pay? Hermione knew that Harry had ceased being an Auror and retreated from public life around ten years ago. Nesbitt might have had something to do with that, but she had no way of knowing either way. She and Ron had drifted away from Harry long before the events Malfoy described had taken place.

"Nesbitt's ruthless," said Malfoy. "There isn't anything he won't do. Even the other Special Ops are afraid of him. Your father-in-law is the only one who will stand up to him and the only reason _he_ has gotten away with it so far is that Nesbitt really doesn't want his job. In fact, if Nesbitt had his way there would be no Auror Affairs at all. No ickle-Aurors, no subdepartments. Only Aurors. One kind of Aurors."

_I know, _Hermione thought.

Nesbitt was an old-line Auror. For him, the world had been torn apart when the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been dismantled after a victorious war.

Staring past her untouched cinnamon bun, she watched Malfoy's fork delicately, unerringly, peck up the last of the bits of blue sausage.

"You know, much of what I've done in recent years is because I had no choice," Malfoy said. "That list doesn't tell the whole story."

And Hermione remembered Arthur describing the Death Eaters' ever-increasing demands for proof of Malfoy's loyalty after Pansy went over to the other side. Not that it mattered if he was really loyal or not. According to Arthur, the Death Eaters used that Memoralias Charm to check up on what Malfoy did and said. That would prevent him from doing or saying anything that could be construed as traitorous, becuse the charm would remember everything perfectly. That was why they still had him in their grip even after all these years. What as that he'd said, back at his manor? _There's no easy right or wrong where family and survival are concerned. And if you don't fall into line, they'll simply keep pushing you harder and harder until you reach that point where family and survival become more important than anything else._ Malfoy's parents were still alive, and with children of his own he now had even more to lose than he'd had as a teenager.

_He's not denying about the list,_ she thought. _But yet, how could anyone fight both Nesbitt and the Death Eaters at once? It sounds as if even Harry couldn't do it._

Suddenly she was exhausted. Her headache had become a pounding migraine, her stomach queasy and her right eye watering. She didn't dare draw her wand to cast a pain-killing charm, though, for fear the other diners might think she was drawing it to defend herself.

How much of what Malfoy said was truth? How much was lies, or half-truths? How true, for that matter, was anything anyone said to her anymore? Because Nesbitt,and Arthur and even Trelawney had as many reasons as Malfoy did to lie to her, lead her along, make her see things the way they really weren't.

Malfoy eyed her critically, his pale gaze cynical. He looked as tired as she felt.

"Well, never mind that," he said. He dug in a robe pocket and produced a gold Galleon, which he tossed onto the table. It was too much for the food, but probably nowhere near enough for the trouble.

"Apparate me to St. Mungo's," he said.

"What, now?" said Hermione, trying to clear her muddled head.

"You wanted me to leave, didn't you? It's another forty minutes for the Portkey. If you take me, I'll be out of here all the sooner. You do have your license, don't you?"

"Of course," said Hermione, straightening. "And I've been to St. Mungo's many times, for Ron."

"Come on, then," said Malfoy. "This place reeks of Muggle-loving scum."

* * *

Outside, the sun made Hermione's eyeballs pulsate blindness and her head pound. She knew she'd have to go lie down somewhere and sleep to get rid of the headache now. Spells would not be able to do anything for her this far into it.

Or she could turn into her fly form. That would get rid of it as well, and far more quickly.

As she drew her wand, Malfoy's right hand closed onto her left wrist through the cloth of her robes, and she winced at the cruel strength of his grip. There was certainly nothing wrong with _that _hand.

"Go now," he said.

"You don't have to cling for dear life," said Hermione. "I'm perfectly capable of Apparating safely with a passenger."

_Even with the mother of all headaches, _she added mentally.

"That remains to be seen," he said stiffly, and she wondered how long it had been since he had been the passenger rather than the driver in an Apparition. "Go, before we're spotted."

By Muggles, she assumed he meant.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath. Well. She'd be rid of him once they reached St. Mungo's, rid of him until Monday at 6AM when he would expect her at Batwing. That would give her forty-eight hours to think, to decide what to do. To figure out what choices she really even had.

But in the meantime? Where would she go after she dropped Malfoy off?

Home to another confrontation with Ron? Would he even be there, or would he have gone back to his team? What about Arthur? Would she find him at Aur Central, plotting against Malfoy, or would he be at home with Molly planning the Quidditch Barbecue from Hell? And then there was Trelawney, the seeming author of this entire mess. Was Hermione insane to trust her?

And how could all of this end in anything but disaster?

* * *

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	30. Cov Ops

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 30: Cov Ops

* * *

Crouching Tigress: You there, Fal?

Fallen Hawk: Yeah.

Crouching Tigress: Ha, thought so. I just saw your guy go into Triple-D.

Fallen Hawk: Is this Crouching Tigress?

Crouching Tigress: Yup.

Fallen Hawk: Is yours in there too?

Crouching Tigress: Since last night, yeah. It's Hermione Weasley.

Fallen Hawk: Well, here I've been wracking my brains trying to figure out why he'd be going in there. I wish somebody would've told me.

Crouching Tigress: Hahaha!

Fallen Hawk: This definitely hasn't been my morning. Have you ever tried to follow someone who doesn't have a lot of experience with the Public Portkey system halfway across England?

Crouching Tigress: Hahaha, no . Where are you?

Fallen Hawk: You have to guess.

Crouching Tigress: Roof?

Fallen Hawk: Hell no, that would be too convenient.

Crouching Tigress: [laughing some more] I'm looking. It's got to be somewhere high up. Window sill?

Fallen Hawk: No, they're all spiked up and down this street.

Crouching Tigress: Some traveling pigeon-proofing salesman made good money one year, haha.

Fallen Hawk: Ha, bloody ha.

Crouching Tigress: So where are you?

Fallen Hawk: Look lower.

Crouching Tigress: Door frame?

Fallen Hawk: Lower.

Crouching Tigress: I still can't see you. Stair railing?

Fallen Hawk: Lower. You're not thinking low enough.

Crouching Tigress: Oh my god. You're on the _sidewalk?! _You?

Fallen Hawk: Don't you dare tell anyone about this.

Crouching Tigress: [laughing uncontrollably]

Fallen Hawk: I mean it.

Crouching Tigress: Wait wait which one are you?

Fallen Hawk: I'll never say.

Crouching Tigress: The ratty one with no tail feathers?

Fallen Hawk: No. You just wait until I catch you!

Crouching Tigress: Hahaha! And to think I wanted to get into the aerial reconnaissance program so badly when I was young. "Fallen Hawk" indeed.

Fallen Hawk: Grrrr!

Crouching Tigress: Hahaha!

Fallen Hawk: Uh oh - got to fly, he's coming out. Alone.

Crouching Tigress: Bye!

[a few minutes pass]

Crouching Tigress: Erm why isn't he going anywhere? He's not waiting for the Portkey is he?

Fallen Hawk: Oh god. That's what it is! I can't believe it. We're going to be here for an hour and a half.

Crouching Tigress: Why doesn't he just catch the one on Channing? It's only about six blocks from here.

Fallen Hawk: Are you joking? Draco Malfoy trudge that far on his own feet? Heaven forbid. No no, he'll wait.

Crouching Tigress: And he's been doing this all morning? You poor dear!

Fallen Hawk: I'll live. I might strangle _him,_ but I'll live.

[a pause]

Fallen Hawk: And you? Where are you?

Crouching Tigress: Guess.

Fallen Hawk: True. Hmm. Under the black van with no windows?

Crouching Tigress: Please. Too obvious.

Fallen Hawk: Hehe. Oh wait. I see you now. The rubbish bin just around the corner from Ernie's Café. I see your little stripey tail sticking - whoop, and now it's gone.

Crouching Tigress: Hahaha. Here comes my girl. Looks like she's going to stop and talk to him.

Fallen Hawk: They don't like each other at all, do they?

Crouching Tigress: Hahaha, no. Oh, she's going to Ernie's. Great, now I can't see a thing.

Fallen Hawk: So move.

Crouching Tigress. I am.

[after a few moments]

Fallen Hawk: Ha! Alley cat.

Crouching Tigress: Shush now. Alleys make perfectly good stakeout positions.

Fallen Hawk: If you like that sort of thing. But you know, women who lurk in alleys have the worst possible reputation.

Crouching Tigress: Come here and say that to my face, little bird.

Fallen Hawk: Ha, I'd like to see you try me. I'll peck your face off.

Crouching Tigress: She sat right near the window. I can see her perfectly from here. You know, she used to spend a lot of time at Ernie's, a while back.

Fallen Hawk: I believe it. She seems like the type. You should have seen the look on her face when Malfoy was manhandling his elf. Hahaha.

Crouching Tigress: Bleeding heart. The elves love it.

Fallen Hawk: Isn't that the truth.

[a bit of a wait]

Fallen Hawk: So when has Special Ops moved their raid up to? Have you heard?

Crouching Tigress: Rising Hawk hasn't told you?

Fallen Hawk: Hell no. Need-to-know and all that.

Crouching Tigress: It was supposed to be early Wednesday morning, 2:34AM. But they're talking about moving it up again, to early Tuesday morning, because they're hoping to take his Apparition license on Monday.

Fallen Hawk: Who told you that?

Crouching Tigress: Angel Dust.

Fallen Hawk: Well, Angel Dust would know.

Crouching Tigress: Yeah. And - holy moly, this guy drinks like a fish.

Fallen Hawk: Tell me.

Crouching Tigress: It's not even 7AM for cripe's sake. What's he got in that flask? Vodka?

Fallen Hawk: It's whiskey. Ogden's Old Extra Special.

Crouching Tigress: Woo. Out of my price range.

Fallen Hawk: Hahaha, too true. Mine also.

Crouching Tigress: They keep looking at each other through the window.

Fallen Hawk: Haha, I know.

Crouching Tigress: They better watch out or some nosy reporter type is going to print a story about their love affair.

Fallen Hawk: [bursts out in laughter]

Crouching Tigress: Aha, I know which you are now! The one with the gray body and the white wings.

Fallen Hawk: This time. Has to be different every time.

Crouching Tigress: Really?

Fallen Hawk: He pays too much attention to birds. It doesn't seem like it, but he does. When I try to go back looking the same, he stares at me oddly, like he remembers me from before.

Crouching Tigress: But he doesn't know?

Fallen Hawk: Not really. Just notices.

Crouching Tigress: Flies too.

Fallen Hawk: What?

Crouching Tigress: He notices flies too. I've seen him staring at them a couple of times, when we were waiting for Weasley to show up.

Fallen Hawk: Weird.

Crouching Tigress: Maybe all those Death Eater combat drugs all these years have been eating into his brain.

Fallen Hawk: Hahaha I wouldn't doubt it. Psychedelic, man.

Crouching Tigress: Hahaha!

Fallen Hawk: I don't do bugs too often. That's Firebird's gig.

Crouching Tigress: Yeah, I don't do bugs at all. It's the six legs that gets me. I just freeze up and don't know what to do next.

Fallen Hawk: I just don't walk in bug form.

Crouching Tigress: Hahaha. Well true, you can fly.

Fallen Hawk: I stick with two-winged insects though. The ones with four wings are confusing. They haven't even let me solo as a four-winger yet.

Crouching Tigress: So how long you been on Malfoy?

Fallen Hawk: Since they started Operation First Strike.

Crouching Tigress: So, three months, something?

Fallen Hawk: Something like that. And you? I thought you were in Egypt.

Crouching Tigress: They just put me on Weasley two days ago.

Fallen Hawk: I'm surprised they'd put someone of your calibre on her. She's not exactly a challenge is she?

Crouching Tigress: Actually they brought me back here just for this. Apparently they've been having a remarkably difficult time tracking her.

Fallen Hawk: Really!

Crouching Tigress: They go hours at a time having no idea where she is. Like she'll set off on her broom, and they've got a tracing charm on her broom, but then suddenly her dot will vanish right off the maps. But no Apparition record or anything.

Fallen Hawk: Portkey?

Crouching Tigress: Maybe. But owls can't find her either. And they ransacked her house completely last night, after they got the husband out of the way, and didn't find a single Portkey in the entire place.

Fallen Hawk: Animagus?

Crouching Tigress: Maybe, but it's not just when she's flying. They have a whole crew doing an exhaustive search of the records - apparently she sometimes doesn't come out the other side of a Floo when she goes in, or comes out of a floo she never went into. I'm not sure being an Animagus would explain that.

Fallen Hawk: How odd. Extraplanar travel maybe?

Crouching Tigress: She told her boss she was suffering from temporary losses of existential coherence.

Fallen Hawk: Hahaha! You're kidding.

Crouching Tigress: I think she was joking, but her boss really believed it.

Fallen Hawk: That is too funny. I'll have to try that one next time I want to skive off work.

Crouching Tigress: I'll get to the bottom of it though. Once they give me the rest of the data from the records.

Fallen Hawk: Well if anybody can, you can.

Crouching Tigress: Did you hear that?

Fallen Hawk: Hear what?

Crouching Tigress: I just got a relay from Tomcat. He says they're planning to Apparate to St. Mungo's from here. Weasley is going to give Malfoy a ride.

Fallen Hawk: Thank god, he must have been making even himself desperate with that Public Portkey business.

Crouching Tigress: Hahaha.

Fallen Hawk: And here they come.

Crouching Tigress: See you there?

Fallen Hawk: Dunno, I just got a relay from Thunderbird that I need to check in at base.

Crouching Tigress: Well, maybe then. Got to go.

Fallen Hawk: Me too. Maybe I'll see you around.

Crouching Tigress: I suspect you will!

* * *

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	31. Memo to Staff

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 31: Memo to Staff

* * *

Policy Regarding the Admittance of Draco Malfoy as a Patient  
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries  
Dated: 9/27/2012

To all Personnel,

As a matter of official policy, Draco Malfoy shall not be admitted as a patient of St. Mungo's regardless of the circumstances. Please direct any questions to Reginald Baker, Director of Emergency Healing.

Janice P. Ledbetter  
Office of the Director

* * *

Revised Policy Regarding the Admittance of Draco Malfoy as a Patient  
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries  
Dated: 9/29/2012

To all Personnel,

As a matter of official policy, Draco Malfoy shall not be admitted as a patient of St. Mungo's _except into the Malfoy Memorial Emergency Ward. _Please direct any questions to Reginald Baker, Director of Emergency Healing.

Janice P. Ledbetter  
Office of the Director

* * *

Addendum to the Revised Policy Regarding the Admittance of Draco Malfoy as a Patient  
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries  
Dated: 4/5/2013

To all Personnel,

Please observe the following restrictions when admitting Draco Malfoy as a patient.

1) The patient must not be wearing any insignia or sigil representing any organization, nor any item(s) of clothing which might be commonly construed as being associated with any organization.

2) The patient must be wandless. It is the responsibility of whoever transported the patient to St. Mungo's to perform the search and remove any wand(s) before entering the wards of St. Mungo's.

3) Full disclosure must be made of all known or suspected injuries or cursings, at the time of admittance. If Mr. Malfoy is incapable of making this disclosure himself, it must be made by those who brought him in.

No exceptions!!!!

Please direct any questions to Perry Dingle, Interim Director of Emergency Healing.

Janice P. Ledbetter  
Office of the Director

* * *

Memo to St. Mungo's Employees  
Re: Draco Malfoy  
Dated: 2/17/2018

Greetings,

This is just a reminder that all personnel coming into contact with Draco Malfoy as a patient must observe the following precautions:

1) Any persons accompanying Draco Malfoy at time of admittance must leave the premises as soon as he has been admitted. NO exceptions.

2) Full Dark Magic decontamination before and after any physical contact. Full decontamination of all facilities and areas patient has come into contact with.

3) Security of at least four Department of Social Services Aurors must be present at all times. Failure to comply will result in admitting employee being written up.

4) The Ministry's Department of Auror Affairs wishes to be informed of his admittance within 20 minutes of arrival.

Anyone who has a problem with any of this, talk to Patrick Kent, Director of Emergency Healing.

Brenda Buttkuss  
Office of the Director

* * *

Memo to St. Mungo's Employees  
Re: Draco Malfoy  
Dated: 3/16/2018

Hello,

Under no circumstances is Draco Malfoy to be refused admission to the Emergency Room ward. I am sure none of you want these people showing up at one of our Healers' private homes again. I know many do not agree with his group's politics but ours is not to get involved in politics. We are healers first and foremost. And here at St. Mungo's is where we can heal at the greatest safety and convenience to ourselves. Comprende?

Kandace Whitchapel  
Interim Director of Emergency Healing

* * *

Memo Regarding Draco Malfoy's Visitation of Salazar Malfoy  
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries  
Dated: 11/21/2020

To all Staff:

As of today Draco Malfoy is to be allowed controlled visitation of his son Salazar Malfoy in the critical ward on the Potions floor. Please follow the following precautions at all times:

1) A Department of Social Services Auror shall be on hand to search for any wand(s) and to hold any found in safekeeping for the duration of the visit.

2) No less than four (4) orderlies shall be on hand in case of any difficulties.

3) Healers involved in explaining Salazar's condition and the required treatments shall be of good standing with St. Mungo's, shall have had recent positive contact with Draco Malfoy and shall be possessed of excellent understanding of his character and behavior.

4) A securable room shall be set aside in case of violence and a coherent plan of action decided upon in advance.

5) Every effort should be made to prevent upsetting Draco Malfoy unnecessarily.

Betsy Lannock  
Office of the Director

* * *

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	32. Everlasting

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 32: Everlasting

* * *

Noise exploded in a deafening blare as Hermione and Malfoy Apparated onto the platform outside St. Mungo's and were promptly inundated by a mob of reporters. Hermione's headache, already splitting, threatened to erupt like a gory red dungbomb as dozens of Lite Brites popped off in her face. She felt Malfoy recoil against her, his fingers digging into her arm.

"Mrs. Weasley, is it true you're leaving your husband?" yelled one reporter, shoving what looked like a Muggle microphone in her face. Actually it was just a sceptre styled to look like a mic; they were all the rage among wizarding reporters these days.

"Mrs. Weasley! Who's he cheating with?" shouted another.

"Mrs. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley," yelled yet another. "What's your connection with Draco Malfoy?"

She could hear someone else simultaneously shouting at Malfoy: "What's your connection with Hermione Weasley?"

"Clear the platform!" bellowed the Apparition attendant, giving Hermione a firm shove in the back. She lurched forward, lost her balance, and plunged down into the crowd. She felt Malfoy's grip break free and turned quickly to look for him, but they had already been separated. She was on her own. Not that he probably would have been much help in any case.

"Mrs. Weasley! Tell us what happened! Why were you so angry you blew up your house?"

"It wasn't the _house," _Hermione tried to protest. "It was just a shed. And hold on, _I _didn't do it!"

But her answer was drowned out amidst more shouts of "Mrs. Weasley! Mrs. Weasley, a question!"

"Wait, wait, one at a time," she said, but it was like trying to douse a stampede of fire-lemmings with an eyedropper. Her head was pounding like a thousand drums and she could barely see for the pain. And still the questions came on, piled atop one another.

"Mrs. Weasley, do you have anything to say to your husband right at this moment, and if so, what is it?"

"Mrs. Weasley, have you ever cheated on your husband?"

"No comment!" she gasped in outrage, but nobody heard that either. Honestly, why couldn't she have become newsworthy for something genuinely important, like managing to recreate the Philosopher's Stone? Why did she have to be the Witch Who Chudley Cannons Beater Ron Weasley is Cheating On?

She started looking for a way to get back onto the Apparition platform, but she was penned in by newspeople and their equipment. She couldn't even see it, much less reach it. And she couldn't Apparate away unless she could get to that platform, since St. Mungo's wards would prevent it otherwise.

"Let me _through!" _she gritted, as she tried to get past the scepters ringing her.

"Mrs. Weasley! Mrs. Weasley! Did Malfoy pay your bail?"

"Mrs. Weasley! Have you spoken to the Director of Auror Affairs, have you spoken to your father-in-law since you were arrested?"

"Mrs. Weasley! _Have_ you cheated on your husband?"

In desperation, she lifted her wand. The reporters fell back momentarily, probably fearing she meant to curse them. But when she made as if to Apparate instead, they surged ahead again, likely thinking she wouldn't succeed because of the wards.

She wasn't planning on really Apparating, though; she was only going to pretend to. She moved her wand in a not-quite correct movement, combined with her very best instant transformation into fly-form, and -

_CRACK!_

The reporters closed in to fill the empty space as Hermione spiralled upward entirely unseen.

* * *

It was a shame that after the promising show Hermione had put on at Hogwarts, and despite her early successes in changing the structure of Wizarding society, she hadn't actually contributed all that much to the advancement of Wizardry itself. To date her biggest magical accomplishments were feats she'd never dare tell anyone about, because they involved innovative ways of getting in and out of her Animagus form without anybody finding out what she was.

The fake Disapparition had been the first of them, and in fact the breakthrough had come when she, Ron and Harry were still learning how to Apparate. When the other two weren't around, she'd practiced fervently and made her transformation faster and faster until she was able to duplicate the snap of displaced air that occurred during a real Disapparition. This was possible because of the dramatic size difference between her human form and her Animagus. Once she'd gotten the technique down, she'd honed her skills by practicing it right in front of her two friends, who never even suspected. The reverse was a bit trickier as it required casting a firecracker charm upon re-transforming, so she could only do it when nobody happened to be looking. Not to mention the smell of burnt firecracker might be cause for suspicion. But it could still be done, if she was careful enough and if the circumstances were right.

In the subsequent years, she'd expanded her portfolio to include fake Flooing. This involved throwing the floo powder in, stepping into the flames as they roared their highest, but then transforming and quickly flying back out the way she'd come. The brilliance of the green fire prevented anyone who was looking from spotting her tiny form coming back out.

She could also simulate an arrival by floo by flying into the fireplace, turning around, then shooting out of it transforming at the same time. So long as she made sure to do it when nobody was looking, it fooled them every time.

Of course, the Ministry kept strict records of both Flooing and Apparating, and her records would certainly look odd. But who was going to go back and check _all_ the records?

* * *

Now headache-free and soaring above the turmoil, Hermione tried to decide what to do. She couldn't very well Apparate in her Animagus form, and almost anyplace she'd want to go from here was an awfully long distance to be flying on the wings of an insect. But "catching a ride" covertly with a total stranger was problematic, because she'd never quite know where she'd end up.

As she circled indecisively she spotted Malfoy forcing his way through the packed reporters towards the great plant-and-animal graven arch that was the Wizarding entrance to St. Mungo's. He presumably had a lot more experience dealing with the media than she did, but he still didn't seem too happy. Maybe he was used to more controlled situations like press conferences. And of course, being that he was wandless, rudely Apparating away would not have been an option even if there hadn't been wards.

Hermione was none too pleased with him after their little conversation at Ernie's, but despite herself she darted down to have a better listen to how he was answering them.

"How's your son doing?" shouted a reporter.

"No interviews!" Malfoy scowled as he pushed and squirmed his way between two massive Wizarding TV Seer Balls.

"What about the restraining order preventing Salazar's mother from seeing him?" a second reporter yelled as they flowed back around the Seer Balls trying to catch him.

"No interviews!" he repeated, clambering awkwardly over the umbilical joining an Witness Eye floater and its operator.

"Is it true you're having an affair with Hermione Weasley?" shouted a third reporter, this one right in his face. Malfoy stomped directly on that reporter's foot hard, forcing him to give way.

"That's revolting!" he snarled, as he shoved through the resulting gap. "No more questions!"

And with that, he bolted up the steps and in through the doors of St. Mungo's. A pair of blue-liveried Department of Social Services ickle-Aurors posted there prevented the reporters from following him in.

They did not, however, have a hope of preventing Hermione from zipping in over their heads.

* * *

The main waiting area of St. Mungo's hadn't changed much over the years. It was still loud, crowded, and shabby, with rows of crummy wooden chairs holding witches and wizards in every possible state of disrepair. Weird moans and shrieks blended into a hideous cacophony, making Hermione very glad her headache hadn't survived her transformation. Grotesquely altered body parts oozed dubious substances onto the floor, or in a couple of cases lay about completely detached.

Malfoy was significantly out of breath, and a bit sweaty and wild-eyed as well, after his encounter with the reporters. But he wasted no time in striding up to the Inquiry desk.

"Next, please?" asked the witch who was stationed there. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy! How _nice_ to see you again. You've come alone, then? You know you really ought to have brought along someone familiar with Muggle culture to explain things for you," she said cheerfully.

_Hang on,_ thought Hermione in surprise. _Did she say Muggle culture?_

"It's so difficult to face these decisions at the best of times," the Inquiry witch continued. "And it's particularly difficult when we're talking about Muggle surgery. So many of you _older families _just don't have enough exposure to Muggles to be able to grasp the simplest -"

"That's enough of that," said Malfoy sharply, eyes darting to make sure everybody nearby was minding their own business. "And I'm more than capable of making the decision myself, thank you. Now about my appointment?"

_Wait, wait,_ thought Hermione. _They're going to do Muggle surgery on Salazar?_

"Ah yes," said the Inquiry witch without batting an eyelash. "They're just waiting for Dr. Thurgood to arrive and then they'll be ready for you. Why don't you have a seat and we'll call you when it's time?"

_Doctor! _thought Hermione. _It really is Muggle surgery!_

"Such a pity there's no reversal for Everlasting Glue, it's one of the Great Mysteries of the Wizarding World," the witch was already saying to the next person in line, as Malfoy stalked toward the waiting area.

* * *

Hermione hadn't really had any specific plans when she followed Malfoy into St. Mungo's, but now she knew she had to get in and see his son for herself somehow.

When she'd originally learned about the accident with the Everlasting Glue, Hogwarts hadn't bothered to relay any of the details, and in fact had implied the details were unnecessary. The school had threatened to expel Freida and Georgia, which was bad enough, but had not actually done so. Malfoy's owl to Hermione and Ron had been threatening too, but it hadn't said he planned to press charges or file a lawsuit, only that any more incidents like it would result in action on his part.

In other words, it seemed that the twins had done something incredibly foolish and ill-advised, which had caused someone else to get hurt accidentally but not seriously.

But then there had been that niggling, unresolved detail - the part about Salazar not being back to school until next term. No ordinary parent would want their child's schooling to be set back a year if it was at all avoidable. How minor could the injury be, if it was going to result in that?

And now Hermione was beginning to fear she had underestimated the situation completely. This business of Muggle surgery was a surprise, to say the least. No Magical Healer in his or her right mind would even consider recommending such a thing unless the patient's life was at stake, and there were very few situations where magic couldn't do the job better and faster. Not to mention, it would require that a Muggle surgeon and his surgery team be exposed to the Wizarding world, which was a good deal more problematic than revealing secrets to ordinary people.

For one thing, Muggle doctors were highly intelligent, highly motivated, and worked for a cause that was seen as just and good in both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. When they became aware of the Wizarding world and all the benefits of magical healing, they invariably produced well-thought-out, compelling and insistent arguments that this knowledge ought to be made freely available to Muggles for the saving of lives. And these arguments were terribly difficult to ignore, even for the mainstream moderates who knew fully well such a thing could never be allowed wholesale. There was inevitably a huge row over it at the Ministry, and Obliviations of everybody involved. Everybody who could be legally Obliviated, that is. Which led to the next problem: Healers and their Muggle equivalents were traditionally exempt from Obliviation. This was because there was no way to guarantee there wouldn't be accidental loss of medical knowledge that might result in harm to patients, or even unnecessary deaths.

So Muggle surgery would not have been recommended lightly. And it was clear that Malfoy knew about the proposed surgery and that this is what the meeting was going to be about. It didn't take a Know-it-All to realize that the situation must be serious indeed for Malfoy to even listen to something like that. If the glue had covered the boy's wand hand, perhaps, or had gotten onto his face, sticking shut an eye or entering his nose or mouth that might be serious enough to warrant it. Since Everlasting Glue could not be reversed, the only way to remove it was physically, and perhaps Muggle cutting would be kinder and less destructive than using _Accio_ and its relatives to rip the glue away.

The more Hermione thought about it, the more worried she became.

Ron and others may joke about how strict she was with the children -- and it was true, sometimes she found herself repeating the same warnings and instructions for the 100th time and realized for herself how acutely ridiculous she was being. Kids misbehaved in school. It had been that way since the beginning of time. Who was she to think she could change human nature?

But putting someone in hospital! That was too far in just about anybody's book. And if anything went wrong, if Salazar were left with a hideous scar or something, there was absolutely no way Malfoy would fail to press charges on the twins, Batwing or no. After all, how could a business be more important than his own son? He wouldn't even work on weekends because of wanting to be with his family. It was a sure bet that needing Hermione's goodwill for Batwing would only go so far to protect Georgia and Freida from his revenge.

If only they could have picked something less extreme than Everlasting Glue!

* * *

Determined not to miss out on anything, Hermione followed Malfoy through the crowded waiting area. He was drawing quite a few stares; evidently his lack of beautification charms was no substitute for travelling incognito. In fact, since everybody recognized him, his less-than-wonderful appearance was probably generating loads of additional unwanted rumors.

He chose an out-of-the way chair in a back corner of the waiting-area, next to a fat witch who appeared to have been half consumed by a large python but who was currently reading a copy of Witch Weekly unconcernedly. On the chair across from them was a gray-and-black tabby cat with its feet curled up comfortably beneath it. It looked ordinary, but it was probably an accidentally transformed person coming to get the spell reversed. Either that, or a familiar belonging to one of the patients.

Malfoy edged as far as he could into the corner away from both of them and leaned against the wall, watching the waiting-area and the people in it. His eyes flicked over the obvious cases quickly, lingered on the more bizarre ones. Hermione had visited St. Mungo's enough times for Ron that people-watching in the waiting-area without being free to follow them further in their lives had lost quite a bit of its novelty, and she didn't have paranoia to keep her interested like Malfoy did. She was just wondering if she should go try to find Salazar now - perhaps on the Potions accidents floor - when Malfoy suddenly spoke to the witch sitting beside him.

"How long has that owl been staring at me?" he demanded.

Hermione spotted the owl he was talking about at once - it was sitting on the post-perch near the Inquiry desk. It was a very fine specimen, with a brand-new tip pouch and no sign of damage anywhere on its sleek feathers. It was staring at Malfoy avidly.

The python witch lowered her magazine, revealing that it was open to the "Most Eligible (And Wealthy!) Bachelors of the Year 2020" spread. Malfoy was listed as #15 of 45, just after Tad Baddly, four times MVP and the captain of England's international Quidditch team, and just before Parker Wanmaker, heir to the Ollivander's fortune. Not that Ollivander himself showed any signs of expiring, mind you - but he had to be nearly a hundred and thirty years old.

"Well hel_lo,"_ said the witch, after blinking several times and then comparing the picture in the magazine to the genuine article just to make sure her eyes weren't deceiving her. "Do you always pick up witches in the St. Mungo's lobby?"

Now it was Malfoy's turn to blink. "I'm not trying to pick you up," he said after a pause.

"Oh dear," sighed the witch, disappointed. "Well. I suppose it will _still _be quite a story to tell the girls at work."

Malfoy's nose wrinkled. "And that owl? How long has it been there?" He turned to glare at it intently. After a moment, it spun its face 180 degrees the opposite way.

"Why, I have no idea!" exclaimed the witch. "I only just noticed it there."

"Hmph," he said. A moment later, Hermione saw him look up suddenly at the owl again, catching it in the act of turning away a second time.

"I knew it," he growled. He pulled an expensive designer Self-Refilling Quill and a roll of parchment out of his pocket, unrolled the parchment on his knees and carefully scripted:

_Please sign and return._

in the center in an elegant hand. He blew on the ink and waved the parchment to dry it, then folded it carefully into a packet. Once it was folded, he wrote a name and address on the outside of it. Hermione couldn't catch the name, but the address was somewhere in the United States of America.

What on earth was he doing? It looked like he was addressing a letter. Was he really going to send a letter that said "Please sign and return" to someone on the opposite side of the planet?

When he was finished he dug in his pocket for a ribbon and rose to his feet, wending his way quickly back through the waiting area toward the Inquiry desk with obvious intent. The fancy owl flapped indignantly as he grabbed it and began to tie the letter onto its leg without even bothering to ask the Inquiry witch for permission to use it first. Hermione and the python lady watched (the latter snickering in astonishment) as he finished and released the owl, only to have it continue to stare at him aghast, unmoving. He made an abrupt, be-off-then gesture. Sulkily the owl flounced off the perch and out the front doors, and Malfoy made his way back to his seat.

"Why did you do that?" asked the witch jammed up to her hips in a python, evidently unable to bear her curiosity.

"To stop it from staring at me of course," said Malfoy. "And to keep it from coming back too soon."

"Was it bothering you that much?" she asked.

"I have bad enough luck without letting a stupid owl make it worse," he said.

"Bad luck?" repeated the witch. "You sent that poor owl off to the States because you thought it was giving you _bad luck?" _She looked as if she might think he was insane.

"Animals staring at you is _always_ bad luck," said Malfoy, looking as if he thought she was insane for ever doubting it.

The witch glanced at the gray tabby cat that had been staring at them from directly across the aisle the whole time. She looked as if she were about to point it out, but just then the cat stopped staring and began to studiously clean its paw instead.

_"Breaking mirrors _is bad luck," said the python witch. "A black cat crossing your path is bad luck. But owls staring? Hardly! I suppose you believe rainbows are good luck too?" She patted the head of her python, whose eyes, it should be noted, were currently bulging out and staring in two opposite directions.

Malfoy raised his chin haughtily. "Rainbows _are _good luck. Why on earth would you suggest otherwise?" Both he and the witch appeared to believe they were having a perfectly sensible conversation.

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. _Save me from pureblood foolishness!_

* * *

Ten minutes later, Malfoy's conversational companion was halfway through a story about why she was halfway through a python. It was a very long and convoluted tale that seemed to involve a lawn chair, a vial of Giselle's Grace Enhancer, several tins of coconut oil, and a Sunlight Magnification Charm. Malfoy was paying alert and sober attention to the story and even asking questions, which Hermione found perfectly maddening. The python itself had still not made its entrance into the plot line when Malfoy was summoned for his meeting - and not a moment too soon as far as Hermione was concerned!

The team who'd come to pick Malfoy up didn't resemble a simple escort so much as it resembled a goon squad for dealing with particularly difficult patients. In addition to a wizard in Healer's robes carrying a clipboard, there were four huge orderlies -- two male and two female -- as well as a second Healer, a small mousy-looking witch who held her exposed wand in one hand and a vial of clear pale-yellow potion in the other. From the color and viscosity it looked like a Paralyzing Draught, but Hermione couldn't be sure.

At first she wondered if Salazar was really giving them that much trouble, and then she realized it was Draco himself they were wary of. _Of course,_ she thought. If he'd gone through nine surrogates, he'd been "killed" nine times. The sacrifice of the surrogates via the Dark Link ritual would have prevented him from dying, but somebody still would have had to have done the actual healing that completed the saving of his life. And the St. Mungo's Healers were among the best in the world, so naturally someone like Malfoy would have been brought to them. There were probably quite a few people there who knew exactly what Malfoy was and weren't going to take any chances.

* * *

The room where the meeting was to be held was deep inside the original St. Mungo's building, a centuries-old monastery that had survived several wars, Muggle and wizarding both. Hidden behind a modern façade and several layers of newer construction, this core area had some of the oldest and heaviest wards in the Wizarding world.

The room itself appeared to be normally used as an examination room, but currently contained a small table and several chairs. There was another, older Healer standing and waiting, as well as one of the Department of Social Services Aurors. The lighting was extremely bright, quite uncharacteristic for Wizarding interior spaces which were still typically lit by torchlight. It was, however, normal for one of the examination rooms. Hermione had been in them enough times for Ron to know that.

Everybody, including the Healers, looked haggard and grimy under that light. Hermione was glad she was a fly.

The newest Healer gave the Auror a nod, and the Auror stepped forward and performed a physical search of Malfoy's person, evidently looking for a wand. He discovered the forearm sheath, which was of course empty, but did not find the quick-release chest holster. Hermione began to see why Nesbitt and Malfoy both disparaged "ickle" Aurors. Still, since Malfoy really _was_ wandless, it hardly mattered this time.

Throughout the search, nobody spoke. Malfoy stood still, his posture stiff with protest but not actually resisting, his eyes locked onto the Healer who'd given the go-ahead with an unreadable look that wasn't quite hatred, but was extremely intense. It was almost a promise. Hermione realized there must be previous history between the two of them, and not pleasant history at that.

After the search was completed, however, the Auror was sent away and Malfoy was offered a seat.

"I apologize," said the leader of the Healers, "but it was necessary, for the safety of our guest. Because of who he is, and because of what you are."

"Ha," said Malfoy sourly, smoothing back his hair and taking the pro-offered seat.

The evidence of _what he was_ was hard to ignore, under that damning white light. Here it was clear to see that most of his face - the part that would be covered by a Death Eater mask - was perfectly free of even the tiniest blemish, while the signs of magically healed nicks and cuts began at his jaw, which would be exposed.

The hand he'd just used, his wand hand, had hundreds of faint scars crisscrossing it, some tiny and some quite large. For the kind of precision spellwork he did when Apparating it could never be gloved, and of course his opponents would be trying to curse or knock the wand out of his hand. Hence that hand, and that arm, would be the most damaged.

But it was his other hand, his right, that drew Hermione's eyes. It lay seemingly harmless across his lap, thin and angular yet elegant. The scars along it, tiny and lavender, were concentrated along the back as opposed to the palm, showing that his hand had been in clenched in a fist and only its outer surface unprotected. That was the hand Nesbitt said he used to grab someone from behind, get them by the neck. Just like he'd done to the Auror, Bangor.

Each victim would have only a second or two to fight him, the moments it took to pronounce the spell _Avada Kedavra,_ the killing curse. And then it'd be too late.

This is what Malfoy did. This was his area of expertise, that elusive skill-set that was so hard to spot when looking only at his daylight hours. Slaughtering innocent people by cursing them in the back! It was one thing to sit in Ernie's Café and listen to him make excuses about lack of choices and forced loyalties. It was quite another to see the goddamned fingernail marks on his hand from dying Muggles trying to free themselves from his clutches! Somehow this was more sobering than any graphic accusation Nesbitt could have come up with - the mute evidence of those dozens of tiny marks, proof that at least that many Muggles had clawed out the last brief instants of their lives with his wand at their backs.

Hermione was sickened. She wanted to flee the very sight of him.

But the door was opening again and a Muggle in a doctor's coat was being ushered in. She knew that regardless of her feelings about Malfoy she had better stick around long enough to find out what Salazar's condition really was, for Freida and Georgia's sake if nothing else. After all, if it did come down to a lawsuit or some such, she'd be in enough trouble trying to hire lawyers willing to go up against Blitzkrieg and Ramhomme without remaining completely ignorant of the situation as well.

* * *

The doctor was a short, clean-cut fellow wearing glasses and a white Muggle lab coat. He was carrying a clipboard with some notes on it.

"Ah, Dr. Thurgood," said the Healer who seemed to be in charge. "I'm Penrose St. James, the lead Healer for this case. And this is Heather Mattham, our Potions expert, and Bryant Wentwood, Life Support Supervisor." He indicated the two other Healers, and pulled out a seat across from Malfoy. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you, very nice to meet you," said Dr. Thurgood. He seemed pleasant and intelligent, if a bit nervous. He shook hands with the three Healers, and then everybody sat down except for the orderlies, who remained standing against the wall with their arms crossed.

Malfoy watched Dr. Thurgood like a hawk, his body held perfectly still and his eyes filled with such intense malice it was impossible to ignore. Certainly Thurgood flinched from his gaze the moment he tried to meet it.

"And this is Draco Malfoy the father," said St. James.

"Pleased to meet you," said Dr. Thurgood diffidently. He'd apparently been coached against offering to shake Malfoy's hand, because he showed absolutely no inclination to do so. Neither did he try to meet Malfoy's eyes again. Hermione wondered if perhaps he'd been told a bit more than just how to act. Perhaps he'd been told who and what Malfoy was, as well. Or would they have told him that much?

"Dr. Thurgood is a Muggle surgeon and will be able to explain to you how the Everlasting Glue might be removed using those techniques. It's only a proposal, mind you - it will be entirely up to you in the end," said St. James.

"The only reason I'm here," said Malfoy through his teeth, "is because you won't allow me to see my son until I've sat through it. That doesn't mean I actually want to hear any of this Muggle tripe, nor does it mean I'll consider it seriously for so long as a instant."

"Of course," said St. James soothingly. "We just want you to know all the options. Well then. Before we get to that, you'll be glad to hear the insects have all been successfully removed. A series of excoriating charms did the job nicely, and the glue has been covered with bandages so it cannot become adhered to anything else."

Malfoy nodded, looking as if he'd expected as much. Perhaps they'd discussed that part of the procedure during an earlier visit.

"Removing the glue itself is somewhat more problematic, of course," the Healer continued. "After all, the reversal of Everlasting Glue is one of the Great Mysteries of the Wizarding World."

Malfoy grimaced. Hermione wondered how often he'd heard that phrase about Everlasting Glue in the last three days. Probably about a thousand times.

"Since there is no magical solution to the problem, we've been forced to consider alternative treatments," said St. James. "Dr. Thurgood? Would you be so kind as to explain how Muggle surgery might be able to help Salazar?"

Malfoy's pale eyes left St. James and travelled back to Dr. Thurgood again, where they settled with unmistakable hatred.

"Yes, well," said the Muggle, shuffling his papers nervously and not looking up. "Quite a difficult case, really, and I should think it would be quite impossible to treat him with only magic or only surgery. But using the strengths of magical caregiving and the physical removal with surgery - we might well succeed. After examining the patient, I feel that -"

"They let _you_ see him?" demanded Malfoy suddenly, sitting bolt upright in his chair.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy," began St. James.

"You let a _Muggle_ see my son, and I haven't been allowed to?" Malfoy's outrage was plain. He started to leap to his feet, but then appeared to think the better of it. Hermione didn't blame him - between being wandless, and with four bulky orderlies standing right there and Mattham fingering that yellow potion, even Malfoy had to see the sense in avoiding trouble.

"Now now, you'll be able to see him shortly," said St. James. "Please be patient. Go on, Dr. Thurgood."

Malfoy sat back rigidly, not making any particular effort to hide his fury and resentment. And the look he shot Dr. Thurgood was absolutely chilling. Hermione questioned the wisdom of provoking Malfoy where a specific Muggle was concerned; the Death Eaters had no compunctions about harming Muggle medical personnel if they got in the way. Had someone taken steps to ensure Thurgood's safety? Who had thought it was a good idea to suggest Muggle surgery in the first place? It was obvious now Malfoy would never accept the idea, not in a thousand years.

"Er, yes," said the doctor, obviously discomfited. "Perhaps we should continue this another ?"

"No, no," said Wentwood. "Please continue."

"Describe the surgical procedure," suggested Mattham. "That's what he really needs to know."

"Very well," said Thurgood. "As to the surgery itself, the skin touching the glue must be cut away using a scalpel."

"Which is a small knife," said Wentwood.

"Oh yes, my apologies. A tiny, very sharp knife. Because the glue itself cannot be touched without adhering to whatever touches it, you see, we will keep it covered with bandages on the one side and skin on the other. Because each section of the glue must be lifted off in its entirety, this is a very time-intensive process and entails many risks, even with magical support. Fortunately, some of the complexities which would be encountered in purely surgical methods can be avoided or at least mitigated using magic - for example problems with keeping the patient anaesthetized for so long, and issues related to blood loss and replacement."

"Blood loss and repl ?" began Malfoy, but the Healers rushed to interrupt.

"Oh yes, very fortunate," said Wentwood hastily.

"Yes indeed, there shall be no issues regarding that, isn't that good?" said St. James almost at the same time.

"I daresay there shan't be any of that at all," said Mattham.

Confusion joined the anger on Malfoy's face. "What was that about blood?" he demanded.

Wentwood coughed. "Nothing of importance, really and why go into all of that when it will only delay your seeing your son even longer?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Hermione thought they were wise to try to avoid discussing blood transfusions in front of him, because he was sure to become completely irrational. Most purebred wizards erroneously believed that the key to their breeding lay in blood, not genetics. To suggest that a Malfoy allow the blood of some lesser-born wizard - or worse yet, a Muggle - be inserted into his son's veins would likely be considered grounds for a duel to the death. Only in this case, since Dr. Thurgood was a Muggle, Malfoy would probably dispense with demanding a duel and simply AK him on the spot. That was if he didn't drop dead of a stroke himself once he finally comprehended what the Muggle had suggested.

"Heh heh," said Dr. Thurgood nervously. "My apologies. It's simply that normally in our surgical methods, there is a good deal of bleeding, because a scalpel _is_ a knife after all, and the blood lost must be -"

"-must be somehow be _unbled_ back in," interrupted Wentwood quickly. "Yes, very tricky procedure as you can imagine, especially without magic."

"Nothing a good Blood Staunching Charm can't take care of before it ever happens, though," said St. James firmly. "Thank goodness for magic, eh?"

"Right." Mattham nodded.

"Definitely," said Wentwood. "Thank goodness for magic."

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine then," he said shortly. He looked as if he knew perfectly well he was being finessed past some unpleasant subject, but didn't know how to retort without knowing what it was they were not-talking about.

"I am duty-bound to tell you," explained Dr. Thurgood, "that if you agree to do this, it will be a very slow process. His body can only withstand so much trauma at once time, and even with magical help he can only recover so fast. That means the glue will have to be removed in small sections over some months."

"Months!" said Malfoy in disbelief. _"Months?"_

"Yes. Well. You see, we will have to start with the critical areas - the sooner we can get him off full life support, the better. Once he is able to survive on his own again, assuming all goes well, we can concentrate on trying to unstick him from himself so he can regain normal movement. And assuming that goes according to plan, after that we can begin removing it from his hands and face, areas not covered by clothing."

"My god," said Malfoy. Every bit of anger vanished from his face to be replaced by shock. "Just how much of that Glue got on him?" he demanded.

_My god, _thought Hermione at the same time Malfoy said it. She should have known. They wouldn't have arranged all of this if the situation hadn't been critical. Thurgood said it was on his face and hands? And that he was stuck to himself with restricted movement? How awful!

"I assure you, his life is in no actual danger at this time," said Wentwood.

"You've been trying to set me up for this, haven't you," said Malfoy slowly, staring at Wentwood. "You're trying to ease me into it. You've something awful to tell me and you're trying to softpedal it, aren't you? Life Support Supervisor! What the hell would _you_ be doing here if it wasn't a disaster?"

"Now, now," said Wentwood. "There's no disaster. Not yet. So long as all of this is resolved in a timely manner Salazar will be just fine."

"A timely manner?" exclaimed Malfoy. He was definitely freaked out. "A timely manner, what are you talking about? Nobody's been able to figure out Everlasting Glue a thousand years!"

"Now, calm down, please, Mr. Malfoy," said St. James.

"That does it," said Malfoy. "I want to see him. Now."

"Mr. Malfoy," began Wentwood.

Malfoy jumped out of his chair, fury suffusing his features. "I don't care who you think I am," he said harshly. "I deserve to see my son, and I want so see him _now!"_

There was a long silence. The three Healers looked at each other.

"I suppose we'd better show him," said St. James at last.

* * *

Of course, Hermione knew that Death Eater father or no, 15-year-old Salazar didn't deserve to get hit with Everlasting Glue. How Georgia and Freida had even gotten the idea to make such a thing - not to mention the more difficult to find ingredients - was beyond her.

But unfortunately, extreme stunts, and extreme revenge for other people's pranks, seemed to be increasingly their way. At first their behavior had been funny, inspired as it was by the school stories of their uncles Fred and George. But Freida and Georgia were different from their namesakes. Crueller at the core, more callous, more willing to cause actual harm. Though Hermione had tried to change that, she had to admit she had very little real influence over them anymore. They were at an age where teenage girls and their mothers often felt like strangers to one another anyway, and between their being gone to Hogwarts during the year and staying in Romania with Charlie and his family during the past two summers, not to mention their sincere attempts to keep all communications to an owl per week, she felt like she barely knew them anymore.

Not that she felt like she knew the others any better. The next oldest, Christopher, was so attentive to studies that any attempt to socialize, even by his own mother, was tolerated as an interruption rather than welcomed. But at least he seemed to be perfectly capable of staying out of trouble on his own, and thank goodness for that.

Then there was Jude. He tried to be obedient, but he was just so rambunctious that he couldn't seem to contain himself. And at 13 he was changing so quickly that one summer wasn't a lot of time to help him improve his behavior before he was gone again for an entire school year. Hermione had thought he'd been doing so much better, but now with this pushing someone down the stairs .

And little Nellie. Hermione had never understood her youngest daughter, not since day one. They had absolutely no commonality upon which they could base any meaningful communication. The girl wasn't stupid exactly, but neither was she proud of the intellect she'd presumably inherited from her mother. Studying was a chore to be avoided, and school merely an opportunity for social activity. Nellie had apparently concluded that she could get what she wanted out of life if she acted like she was about six years old instead of her actual 11, which Hermione found absolutely maddening. Disciplining Nellie didn't seem to stop her from whining, manipulating, and cajoling to get what she wanted, in fact it seemed to make things worse, with poutings and "not fairs". Was it rebellion, at this tender age?

Or was it simply that Nellie, being the youngest, had been more profoundly affected by the problems in the Weasley household than the others who'd been older when it all started happening?

* * *

Hermione's own private paranoia -- and the fact that the Healers had not allowed Malfoy to see his son until now -- should have been enough warning, but when Hermione finally saw Salazar his condition was a shock.

On the bed lay a huddled figure wrapped almost entirely in bandages. The figure was curled in an exaggerated cringe position, arms shielding the head and one knee lifted higher than the other, as if Salazar had seen the bucket of glue coming and had just enough time to react instinctively before it covered him head to toe. There was a ragged stone edge showing under his side it was a piece of the floor of the Hogwarts Great Hall!

One thing was entirely clear. This had been no accident. The entire gallon of the Everlasting Glue had hit Salazar, it had hit him dead on, and if it hadn't touched anyone else in the Great Hall at mealtime then it had been aimed very well indeed.

Hermione felt a horror akin to smothering rise up in her as she pictured it happening. The twins coming with the bucket. The young Malfoy leaping up from his chair and backing off, then cowering as the contents of the bucket hit. Then curling up, frantically scrabbling to try to get it off, the wriggling bodies of roaches mashed harder into the slippery stuff as his struggles only got more of it all over himself. Then becoming blinded, unable to breathe, falling to the floor, then being stuck to the floor, unable to scream or move or even inhale, lungs exploding with pain, and ultimately blacking out .

A person couldn't live at all like this, let alone live a normal life. Not on their own. How would he eat? Could he even breathe? Repeated blood-cleansing draughts and magical life support could prolong his life, or even allow him to live out a normal lifespan. But who could possibly want to live curled into a shape like that, unable to see or move or really interact? Helpless to care for himself or to do anything constructive with his life?

To say Malfoy became agitated would be a severe understatement. Like Hermione, he clearly hadn't expected anything so extensive or so disabling. He started forward with a low cry deep in his throat, then froze, staring at the mummified shape that was supposed to be his son with an expression of purest dumbfoundment. He reached out and touched the bandaged head. There was no reaction. His fingers slid down to the nape of the boy's neck, where fine near-white hairs sprinkled a small triangle of exposed skin. Hermione held her breath, waiting for a reaction -

And then someone made some small noise behind them, and Malfoy spun and went for his wand.

Of course he had no wand, but the intent was there, his left hand diving toward his right wrist, his eyes bright with fury. As everybody jerked back a startled step, Malfoy's fingernails skidded off the primary wand's empty sheath, and finding no wand there darted reflexively up toward the vee of his robes and the quick-release for his spare holster. But of course that one was empty too.

He looked thoroughly flabbergasted when he realized he had no way to attack them, but he was so angry it only gave him pause for a moment.

Then his eyes fixed on St. James.

"You. You lied to me," he said, his voice low and grating.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy," began one of the other Healers. The four orderlies, two wizards and two stout witches, stepped forward again. Thank goodness Dr. Thurgood had been sent away as soon as the meeting was over.

Malfoy backed away from them, his eyes darting wildly over St. James' form as if trying to gauge his chances of overpowering him physically and taking his wand. But they'd tackle Malfoy before he'd closed half the distance - even Hermione could tell that.

"You told me he was feeling better!" he said wildly. "You told me he was conscious. How would you even be able to _tell, _you bastard?"

"I didn't lie to you," said St. James gravely. "He was conscious, and in much less distress yesterday than the day before. I saw as much when I checked him with scanning charms."

Malfoy's hands clenched as if he wanted to take St. James apart right then and there. But after a half-step forward, the orderlies moved toward him and he shrank back again, sidling along the bed.

"You could have told me he couldn't move, talk, or even breathe!" he hissed. "You could have told me it was all _over_ him!"

His eyes then fixed on Mattham. She was by far the smallest person in the room. If Malfoy could take any of them physically, it'd be her. Her wand's handle was visible poking out of a pocket of her robes. She was behind the other two Healers, but there was enough of a gap between them that maybe a determined charge -

But no. The orderlies would get him. Even the two male Healers could get him, if they could react quickly enough. And what was he going to do once he got the wand, try to curse them? With a total stranger's wand? He'd be putting his son and himself in as much danger as them. It was insanity.

_Don't do it, _Hermione thought, as he gathered himself again, then checked his motion and backed off a second time, past the end of the bed.

She couldn't believe Freida and Georgia would do such an awful thing. Didn't they know how dangerous it was? But then again, she could remember doing some pretty horrible things with Harry and Ron when they were that age too. They'd left Draco Malfoy and his friends unconscious and deformed on the train twice at the end of school years, and if Hermione hadn't felt a speck of guilt, she knew for sure Harry and Ron hadn't. Still. Everlasting glue! What had the twins been thinking?

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted as Malfoy - speaking of people who obviously weren't thinking clearly - did exactly the opposite of what he should have done. He went for it.

Shouts rang out as he launched himself at Mattham, clearly trying to catch the others by surprise. But the orderlies caught him only two steps later, and Mattham - far from shrinking away - jumped forward and met him halfway. She popped the cork out of the vial she'd been carrying and tossed its contents half in Malfoy's mouth, half all over his face. He choked and sputtered, yellow drool running down his chin. The orderlies shifted to support his weight as he collapsed against them, flailing. Yes, it was indeed a Paralyzing Draught, and a wicked fast one too. Within seconds the fight had gone out of him completely. Physically, at least.

"Take him," said St. James, and the orderlies dragged him out of the room.

It was all so sudden. Hermione was torn between following the orderlies and Malfoy or staying to see what the Healers talked about. But they didn't stay either, they simply walked out of the room in a hurry and let the door shut behind them. More quickly than she knew what to do, Hermione found herself alone in the room, circling in agitation above the body of a boy wrapped entirely in bandages.

And what _was_ she going to do?

What was she going to do about any of it?

* * *

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	33. You Know Who's You Know Whats

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 33: You-Know-Who's You-Know-Whats

* * *

_O Great One,_

_We have followed your orders faithfully, and send you now the report of what we have seen._

_Upon leaving last night's post-raid analysis session, your servant used the Portkey you provided to go home. He spent approximately one hour there getting cleaned up and giving his house-elves their orders for the day, then had his coachman bring him down to the village where he caught a public portkey._

_At this point he picked up an Auror Covert Operations Aerial Reconnaissance tail. This tail was in the form of a gray pigeon with white wings. The tail was careful to stay out of sight and there is no evidence that our subject even knew he was being followed. He had no communications with the tail that we observed. From there he made his way to London via a circuitous route. He asked several witches and wizards for assistance in negotiating the Public Portkey system but at no time did conversation stray onto other topics. (See transcripts attached) His final destination appeared to be the Department of Domestic Disturbances overnight cooldown facility, from which he freed Hermione Weasley by paying her bail in gold. Weasley was being staked out by Cov Ops Urban Ground Reconnaissance. The agent was in the form of a tabby cat. Again, no evidence that he spotted her tail or was approached by her tail in any way._

_ Once she was released, they had a brief argument about whether the bail money constituted a loan or a gift. (See transcript attached) Weasley threw the receipt in the gutter. We put a tracer on it so if you care to retrieve it for your purposes that can be arranged. Afterward, she entered Ernie's Café situated directly across the street. Our subject had an additional conversation with a pair of Portkey patrons (see attached transcript) which appears to have been of no import._

_After this is where the first suspicious episode occurred. He waited approximately twenty minutes and then followed Weasley into Ernie's Café. Upon re-examining the transcript and scry records we were unable to detect any signal that may have passed between them setting this up, but regardless of whether it was pre-planned or spontaneous we feel that it is unusual behavior for the subject to allow himself to be seen in such a setting._

_Fortunately we had no difficulty scrying him in that location and were able to obtain a full transcript of his conversations with Hermione Weasley and with two of the Ernie's staff. As you can see the conversations with the staff were relatively innocuous but he made several dangerous statements to Hermione Weasley, including one that cast his own loyalty to You in a negative light. (see highlighted passages)._

_After they left Ernie's, she Apparated him to St. Mungo's. There they encountered a large group of reporters and became separated in the crowd._

_Here is where the second suspicious episode occurred. Hermione Weasley Apparated away from approximately three and a half meters inside St. Mungo's Apparition wards. Our friend at Apparition Enforcement has verified that there is no record of that Apparition. This bears closer examination. It is unknown whether our subject even knew the trick Apparition occurred, however given his own predilections in that area it's entirely likely he had something to do with it._

_We were able to obtain a full transcript of his interaction with the reporters. (See attached). Nothing untoward was said, that we were able to detect._

_Similarly his interaction with the witch at St. Mungo's Inquiry Desk was seemingly routine. (See attached)._

_At this time, the St. Mungo's lobby was being staked out by the same Covert Operations Urban Ground Reconnaissance tail as had been following Hermione Weasley a short time before, as well as an Aerial Reconnaissance agent disguised as a post-owl. It is unknown whether this was the same agent as had been disguised as a pigeon to follow our subject before._

_After speaking to the Inquiry witch he entered the waiting area and seated himself very near to the Urban Recon agent, giving every appearance of not realizing her identity. However, within minutes he spotted the Aerial Recon agent and asked a witch sitting near him how long the owl had been watching him. (See complete transcript attached)_

_This is there the third and perhaps most suspicious episode occurred._

_Upon determining that the owl was definitely watching him, he appeared to contrive a fake letter for the "post-owl" to carry. He claimed it was because he believed the owl staring at him would bring him bad luck. The letter rid the place of the post-owl quickly enough, however, we were unable to trace the "owl" after it left St. Mungo's. Therefore the content of that letter is unknown at this time. We feel that it is extremely important to determine what was in that letter and whether it ever reached its addressee. He could easily have used the entire incident as a means to pass a message to Covert Operations._

_ After the owl was gone, he proceeded to listen to an extremely long and tedious story told by the same witch sitting next to him. It is unclear what the point to the story is, but his comments and questions, as well as the story's content, seem innocuous enough. (See transcript attached and we recommend a good stiff drink or two before reading it.)_

_ During that, a contingent arrived to pick up Malfoy for his meeting with the Healers. The meeting was held within St. Mungo's Heart's inner wards and therefore we were unable to scry further. So far as we have been able to determine, he is still there now._

_ We swear to you that everything we have reported in this letter is true and complete. We await your further bidding, Great One._

_Signed,  
(Unsigned)_

* * *

_O Lord,_

_I have read the scry report you forwarded to me and I agree that the "bad luck" episode seems highly suspicious. While it is well established that he holds that belief about staring animals (remember the time he was arrested for disturbing the peace after trying to blast that rat in Diagon Alley?) the fact that it was a disguised Cov Op and he did give it correspondence is not good. Let me know what you'd like me to do._

_Sincerely,  
(unsigned)_

* * *

_Lord, _

_Our North American friend has confirmed that there is no such address in Peoria, Illinois, United States, either Magical or Muggle._

_Yours in unsurmounted loyalty,  
(unsigned)_

* * *

_Most Great and Terrible Leader,_

_I have examined the transcripts of the Ernie's Café incident and do not find them to be suspicious. Malfoy did not say anything Weasley couldn't have figured out on her own by talking to her own friends and family. His revelations seemed calculated to engender sympathy or at least muddy the issue, while allowing nothing to slip. Of course, any action taken on this matter is entirely up to you. _

_Your Servant,  
(unsigned)_

* * *

_Master,_

_After several hours of attempts we have been unable to determine whether the "post-owl" bearing Malfoy's letter ever arrived back at the Cov Ops' Hive. It seems unlikely that the agent would have actually gone ahead and delivered the letter as addressed; although if he did not know the address was fake he might have handed it off to a real post-owl? Do we have someone waiting to intercept on the other end, just in case?_

_Your Most Loyal Follower,  
(unsigned)_

* * *

_O Most Powerful of Leaders,_

_I humbly submit that there is one thing which has been overlooked, and that is Malfoy's remaining within St. Mungo's Heart even now._

_I must most respectfully and cautiously remind You that our spies cannot scry him there, nor do the heart-wards allow his Memoralias charm to work precisely as designed. Therefore, should he choose to meet with or pass communications to any ally which You would not approve of, we would have no way of knowing he'd done it._

_It also bears remembering that Penrose St. James, the Healer in charge of Salazar Malfoy's case, is the same Healer who handled those Muggle "gun" holes Malfoy took a couple of years ago. They have been in communication on several occasions since. Do we know anything about St. James' loyalties and politics? Perhaps we should be finding out._

_Just a thought._

_Signed,  
(Unsigned)_

* * *

_O Master,_

_I have read the letter you forwarded to me and I agree its author has a point. He could be doing anything or meeting anyone there and we would have no way of knowing._

_Furthermore, St. Mungo's Heart is not the only place we cannot track Malfoy's activities. He also cannot be followed into, or recorded in, the high security block at Azkaban, a place he has been visiting weekly for going on ten years now. Neither can he be tracked in the Auror Special Operations interrogation chamber, a location where he has not been in a couple of months but which he is likely to be brought to again when this upcoming raid on his house goes down. If he has any allies among Special Ops, that would be when he'd be able to talk to them. And - for completeness' sake - let us not forget that he is still on the board of Governors at Hogwarts school, another location in which he cannot always be tracked. And, I needn't remind You, base of operations of one of Your deadliest enemies._

_All in all, Malfoy's time spent in these locations should perhaps be curtailed. Or at least, looked at long and hard._

_Everlastingly Loyal,  
(Unsigned)_

* * *

_To Whom it May Concern,_

_Am I the only one who is paranoid about this whole Hermione Weasley business? _

_Signed,  
(unsigned)_

* * *

_Walden,_

_No._

_Sincerely,  
(unsigned)_

* * *

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	34. Memoralias

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 34: Memoralias

* * *

After a few minutes, Hermione knew what she had to do.

She had to send Auror Special Operations a raging Howler about Nesbitt's treatment of her, and send the Department of Domestic Disturbances a Howler about their trashing her living room, and blowing up her shed, and doing Special Ops' dirty work for them. She also had to send Arthur a Howler about where _he'd_ been when he should have been freeing her from Nesbitt's clutches, and find Ron and give him the in-person Howler of a lifetime over that Sheila Lasherton business. Unless he'd forgotten she was in jail and simply gone back to his team, of course, in which case she'd have to send him a Howler about that _and_ about his cheating on her. And she'd have to warn Hogwarts that Freida and Georgia would require protection, and send the twins themselves the Howler of _their _lifetimes.

Oh. And demand that Trelawney give her a massive pay raise.

There was no way her current wage was covering the hell this latest assignment was putting her through.

But first, before she did anything else, she had to go make sure those Healers had Malfoy properly under control, because if they didn't, the twins might be in immediate danger.

* * *

They'd taken him back through into St. Mungo's Heart, and deeper into it than Hermione had ever been before. In her fly form Hermione could feel the uncanny forces of the wards pressing her to turn back. She had to force herself to continue on, something no true animal would have been willing to do. She would have to be extra careful to avoid being spotted now, since a fly that penetrated the wards would be very suspicious indeed.

She caught up to Mattham, St. James, and two of the orderlies in a small sick-room still on the Potions floor. They were just lifting Malfoy's limp but perfectly conscious body and placing him on one of the beds.

Malfoy definitely looked done with attacking people for the moment. He peered up at them warily, seeming confused and disoriented. It occurred to Hermione to wonder how well he could access his Memoralias charm within the Heart's wards. The wards had been designed, among other purposes, to protect the occupants from scrying, spying, and remotely triggered attacks during wartime. They would not treat any kind of recording artifact kindly, and Memoralias Charms were an old enough technology that they would have been warded specifically against. It was quite possible that Malfoy had no access whatsoever to his memories of the last ten years. And considering how one's memory faculties tended to degrade with Memoralias Charm abuse, probably not much from before that either. He certainly didn't look like he had any idea where he was or what was going on.

St. James moved over to a small desk and sat down, began to write out something that looked like an official report. Mattham drew her wand and proceeded to perform a medical scan on Malfoy's person.

"Hmmm," said Mattham. "Hmmm."

Malfoy squirmed uncomfortably as the wand settled briefly over his heart, colors coruscating wildly along its length, then continued to pass back and forth over his shoulder and down around his side, back over his chest again.

"Oh my," said Mattham.

"Mm, yes," said St. James, without looking up. "It's not pretty, is it?"

Mattham flinched back in surprise as Malfoy lifted a clumsy hand and pushed her wand away. "Don't," he said, an attempt at a growl but his expression of overt anxiety ruined the effect.

"I told you it'd take more than that one vial to keep him down longer than a few minutes," said St. James.

"He's down," said Mattham. "It's just those combat drugs interfering a bit. He won't be on his feet again for hours, believe me." She tried to point her wand at Malfoy again, but he made a feeble attempt to push it away again.

"I'm a Healer," she said soothingly. "I'm not going to harm you."

"No scans," Malfoy said. Hermione had to admire his ability to speak clearly while semi-paralyzed.

"Leave him be," said St. James. "I'll check on him as soon as I'm finished here."

"Hmph," said Mattham, whose curiosity was obviously threatening to get the better of her. She put her wand away, however. "Well, send me an airplane if you need me for anything then. I'll be right nearby. I don't think he'll give you any trouble before, say, late afternoon though."

"Any particular reason why they can't go back to work, then?" St. James asked, looking up and indicating the patiently waiting orderlies.

Mattham pursed her lips. "It _is _regulation that they be here, though I suppose when he's wandless and immobilized it hardly matters. I'd trust my Paralyzing Draught with my life."

"You can go, then," said St. James to the pair. "Thank you."

Mattham beckoned the orderlies to come away with her and the three of them left. As soon as the door had closed Hermione could hear them discussing what had happened as they disappeared down the hall.

* * *

Hermione had known right away that there must have been some history between St. James and Malfoy. The way they'd laid eyes on each other back at that meeting, hostile yet familiar, had fairly screamed it.

Now that was confirmed. The moment the voices outside had faded, St. James drew his wand and locked and warded the door, then cast a privacy charm that would prevent snoopers from outside the room.

"I thought she'd never leave," he said when he was done. He turned and looked down at Malfoy, an ironic and somewhat strained smile on his face. "So, here we are, face to face again. You seem to be all in one piece this time, for a change. Are you going to let me scan you?"

"What happened?" said Malfoy. "I feel like I've been trampled by one of those Muggle lorries."

"Oh, I doubt you'd let that happen again," said St. James, with a slight smile. "I suppose you don't even remember the first time, do you? The wards must be playing hob with your Memoralias charm."

Malfoy's hand moved slightly, twitching toward the Charm around his neck. Hermione suspected he could never actually forget how to use the Charm, whether the charm itself was working or not. Procedural memory involved changes directly to the motor cortex, cerebellum, and central gray nuclei. The Memoralias Charm operated by magically hijacking signals bound for the hippocampus, which was not involved in motor memory at all. Still, since the Charm didn't work here, remembering how to use it did him no good at all. And since he couldn't record to it, he wouldn't remember anything St. James said for longer than a few seconds either.

"Do I know you?" he asked, squinting at St. James.

"Oh, yes," said the Healer. He ran his wand lightly through the air over Malfoy's body, doing a preliminary scan. "I saved your life about two years ago, after you were shot using a Muggle gun. I don't think _I'll _ever forget it," he added sourly. "Seeing as how there were ten wands pointed at my back at the time. Funny how that makes an event stick in a fellow's memory. Well. Not yours, of course. But then, you don't really have one, do you?"

Malfoy lay there looking up at him with eyes narrowed, suspicion failing to completely mask his bewilderment. No, Hermione decided, he didn't. Memory of facts and events didn't usually depend upon the hippocampus after the memories were firmly recorded, but unfortunately his memories less than ten years old were not recorded in his brain where they were supposed to be. They were in the Memoralias charm which was currently inaccessible.

"Anyway," said St. James conversationally as he continued his scan, "Your people broke down my wards, dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night, Stupefied my wife, and forced me to try Heal a bloody mess of a more-than-half-dead mass murdering felon on the floor of my kitchen. When I wasn't able to pull it off alone and without any tools but my wand, they forced me on pain of immediate execution to call in favors from friends all over Europe to come and assist. Which has completely ruined my reputation, I'll have you know. I didn't lose my right to practice Healing, but my career will never be the same. To say nothing of the year and a half of hell I went through trying to get my house decontaminated before I was forced to sell."

Malfoy made no move to try to prevent St. James' scan of him as he had with Mattham. Either he felt he had no choice but to trust him, or maybe the Paralyzing Draught was still gaining in its strength, and Malfoy could no longer fight it.

"And on top of it all," continued St. James, "I've spent the last two years being harassed and interrogated by every branch of Aurors known to Wizarding kind. Apparently they decided you must have told me a bunch of important secrets while we were alone for that -- what was it, fifteen minutes? -- while your cohorts were off negotiating with the Aurors. Funny thing is, I've never been able to repeat a word of what you said. What did you do, run out and find a Secret Keeper within minutes of leaving my house?"

It was a rhetorical question, of course; Malfoy wouldn't remember any of that either. But Hermione realized at once that this was information Arthur needed. St. James might hold key evidence against Malfoy, and he might even be glad to give it up. But if a Fidelius Charm was binding that evidence to a Secret Keeper, no amount of questioning or intimidation would allow the Healer to reveal it. The Aurors obviously didn't know this, or they wouldn't still be bothering St. James after two years. If they knew, they'd be concentrating their efforts on finding and questioning the Secret Keeper instead. After all, the downside of using a Secret Keeper was that the secrets were only as safe as the Keeper was stalwart and uncorruptible. And the bigger the secret, the more difficult it was to find someone who could keep it safe. Witness Wormtail's betrayal of Harry Potter's father they'd been best friends for seven years, and that still hadn't been enough.

Come to think of it, this Fidelius Charm business might also explain how Malfoy had been able to keep his motives regarding Batwing unknown to date. If there was a Secret Keeper involved there too, not even Malfoy himself would be able to tell anybody. And, though she'd have to do some research to verify it, Hermione suspected his Memoralias Charm wouldn't be able to reveal it to prying eyes, either.

Hermione wondered who Malfoy's Secret Keeper might be. Nobody sprang immediately to mind. The two people she'd seen him be friendliest with -- Vincent Crabbe and "Jones", the Cov Op disguised as a waiter -- seemed to be as clueless about his motives as everybody else.

* * *

Malfoy, of course, looked even more confused than before. But even that confusion faded, as everything St. James said slipped out of his mind and was gone, un-rememberable. He looked at St. James blankly, as if aware that it was his turn to speak but having absolutely no idea what to say.

St. James sighed. "Well, never mind that. Let's get you rolled over, you won't be going anywhere until that Paralyzing Draught wears off several hours from now so you might as well get comfortable."

"Why is there a Paralyzing Draught?" asked Malfoy, looking bothered by the idea. He did not resist as St. James helped him over onto his uninjured side. Hermione wondered if St. James knew that was how Malfoy preferred to lie down from past experience, or if he'd deduced as much from his scan. St. James ignored the question, simply scanning Malfoy again and then nodding and putting his wand away.

"I'll just be over here," he said, indicating the desk. "I'll have someone else watch you when I go back to work. No one will disturb you."

Malfoy seemed unaware that his question had been ignored. He'd probably forgotten it already. As St. James went back to his desk, he simply lay there, looking unhappy. What else could he do? Hermione supposed he'd end up sleeping the potion off. He probably needed the sleep fairly desperately anyway, from what she'd seen so far. But for now he was still awake, staring into space in her general direction - in her exact direction, actually - while the sound of St. James' quill sounded quietly into the room.

She was just about to leave, figuring Malfoy was no threat in his current condition, when she realized he wasn't just staring in her direction.

He was staring _at _her, with the farsighted eyes of a Seeker.

She almost fled immediately, but that would be too suspicious. So after her initial flinch of surprise, she froze, watching him watching her.

No sound, no movement, other than the scritch-scratch-scratching of the Healer's quill.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, did nothing. Not that he could _do_ much. But if he spoke, if he said anything to deliberately draw St. James' attention to her, she was in trouble.

He couldn't though, could he? He could speak, of course, but would he know what to say? Would he even know a fly was suspicious, here? Did he even know where he was? Suddenly what Hermione knew of Muggle brain studies seemed perilously vague. She knew that the hippocampus was involved in mapping and place-knowledge, but much of the detail of places and recognizing them out of context must be semantic knowledge, not spatial memory. Considering how long he'd been donating money to St. Mungo's - and going into combat for the Death Eaters, if you believed Nesbitt - much of his knowledge of the place must be more than 10 years old, and therefore he might well know that this was a room within St. Mungo's Heart, and he might well know that a fly shouldn't be within the wards. But could he put two and two together? As the seconds stretched on, Hermione dared to hope he couldn't.

As quietly as she could, she left the wall and flew to the other side of the room, behind Malfoy. Here she had a view of his back, and he had no view of her at all. He couldn't move. He'd quickly forget he'd seen her, and so long as he'd said nothing before he did, that would be the end of that. Certainly she didn't have to worry about him making any connection between what he'd just seen and the fly that had fallen on his desk at his office and the one he'd found in his tea at the restaurant. This particular episode would never be recorded.

She waited for what felt like an eternity, then softly stole back across the room. Malfoy's eyes had closed. He looked to be asleep, or near to it.

A bit shakily, Hermione flew to the door and found her way out through the keyhole, unnoticed by the still busily scribbling St. James. Luckily the protections the Healer had put on the door failed to take an insect into account. As she buzzed back down the hallways and stairwells toward the lobby, she felt a vast relief, whether due to her close call, knowing Freida and Georgia were safe for the moment, or simply being released from the wards' oppressive influence, she couldn't say.

* * *

She found a ladies' loo and turned back into her human form there, then used her wand to make herself truly presentable for the first time that day. Likely nobody who'd seen her "Disapparate" from the courtyard would be indoors now, unless one of the reporters had managed to sneak in or something. She could walk back out through the lobby and use the fireplace there to Floo back home, and nobody who saw her would realize she shouldn't have been there. It wasn't perfect, but it was fairly safe and a lot better than remaining trapped here any longer or catching a mystery ride on a random stranger.

It was a short walk back to St. Mungo's lobby from the loo. She didn't recognize many people from before; most of those who'd been waiting would have been served by now. It was still crowded, loud, and bustling however. Hermione walked as calmly as possible to the fireplace and found a packet of Floo powder in a pocket of her robes.

She threw it in and shouted, "The Burrow!" Then, she timed a brisk step forward with the precise moment the flames flared their highest. In the instant of her commitment, she saw a furry dark shape dart past into the floo at her feet her, timed to pass through exactly as she did.

_What the...?_

It all happened so fast she was zooming through floo space before she really registered what had happened. Was that a _cat _that had just run into her floo? Why on earth had a cat run into the floo?

As if Hermione didn't already feel like she was going mad, she could swear she'd recognized the cat as the very one that had been sitting near Malfoy and the python lady in the lobby earlier.

"Oh, bother," she muttered. Now she had accidental cat-theft to contend with, on top of all her other problems. At least it was only theft now. It'd be cat-murder if any of Crookshanks' descendents discovered the intruder in their territory.

The moment they'd arrived through to the other side, the cat tried to shoot out from under her feet but Hermione stooped and snatched it up, hands under its armpits.

"Gotcha!" she said, as the cat let out a yowl of surprise.

But when she straightened, Hermione forgot all about the cat. Her mouth fell open and the cat fell out of her arms with a thud.

The Burrow had been completely trashed!

* * *

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	35. Margie Jackson's Day Off

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 35: Margie Jackson's Day Off

* * *

_Margie,_

_Sorry to bother you so early on a Saturday, but I think the giant is about to step on the dungheap in this Malfoy matter._

_Your brother,  
James_

_

* * *

_

_James,_

_Thanks for the heads up._

_Sis_

_

* * *

_

_Mrs. Jackson,_

_I apologize for contacting you at home, but we have some representatives of Auror Covert Operations here with a warrant to seize Hermione Weasley's Apparition records. I wasn't sure if I should release those without your being here. Please advise?_

_Muffy Brown  
Apparition Enforcement_

_

* * *

_

_Muffy,_

_It's the weekend. I don't work on the weekend. Deal._

_Margie Jackson_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Mrs. Jackson,_

_Since you have been working closely with us on this matter, you are no doubt aware that we had planned on moving to take Draco Malfoy's Apparition license first thing Monday morning. That's less than 48 hours from now. We have been counting on you to make full disclosure of all records pertaining to Malfoy's Apparition history, without exception. Are you absolutely certain there are no Apparitions that, for whatever reason, do not appear on his records?_

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Auror Special Operations_

_

* * *

_

_Daz,_

_Owl me at the office on Monday. I don't work on Saturday. Capisce?_

_Marge_

_

* * *

_

_Mrs. Jackson,_

_I apologize for disturbing you again but we could really use you here. Apparently there is an issue regarding a query on Hermione Weasley's Apparition records we answered earlier today. We have no record of her Apparating away from St. Mungo's after she Apparated there. However, there were apparently several eyewitnesses who claim she did. We've got both Auror Covert Operations and Auror Special Operations in here trying to seize her records, and things are getting more than a bit ugly. Please advise as to when you might arrive. Thank you._

_Muffy Brown  
Apparition Enforcement_

_

* * *

_

_Muffy,_

_If you owl me again, you're fired._

_Margie Jackson_

_P.S. Give the records to whichever one of them has the actual warrant. If they both have warrants, send them to Auror Affairs to straighten it out. It's not our problem._

_

* * *

_

_Margie,_

_Hi, long time no see. Sorry I can't write much I'm jamming this into an owl's claws while the boss is in the loo. Look at this recording. It shows Hermione Weasley Apparating from within St. Mungo's Apparition wards. The whole office is abuzz over it. I don't doubt it'll make the news in one form or another. Thought you'd be interested._

_Cora Betel,  
WWN Network_

_

* * *

_

_Cora,_

_This is a fraud. She didn't Apparate from within St. Mungo's wards. If it was within the wards, then she didn't Apparate, no matter what it looks like. I wish you people would get a clue. Just because something is incredibly sensational doesn't mean 1) it ever happened or 2) it's newsworthy._

_Marge_

_P.S. Mind if I keep this recording a little longer? I need to show it to someone._

_

* * *

_

_James,_

_You've been holding out on me, haven't you? All right, what's the deal with this untrackable, through-wards Apparition trick? Can he do it? Is he the one who taught Weasley? Spill._

_Sis_

_P.S. Recording enclosed._

_

* * *

_

_Margie,_

_I swear on mother's grave that he never breathed a word to me. If he can do it, he's done a hell of a job keeping it secret. _

_Your Brother,  
James_

_

* * *

_

_James,_

_I'm getting all sorts of heat over it back at the office, from the Many-Headed-Hydra that was once Magical Law Enforcement._

_Sis_

_

* * *

_

_Marge,_

_You know they want to slap a Special Ops grade restraint charm on him. So naturally they need to find out what that trick Apparition was that Weasley did, so as to figure out if he can do it, and then to make sure the restraint charm is properly enchanted to detect and stop that kind of Apparition too. That's all they care about._

_Your Brother,  
James_

_

* * *

_

_James,_

_I thought we decided there was no risk of that restraint charm ever being applied. Can't he just set off the flying restraint charm sixty-six times during the trial to convince the Wizengamot that the charms are too abusive?_

_Sis_

_

* * *

_

_Marge,_

_Exactly._

_Your Brother,  
James_

_

* * *

_

_James,_

_That's what I thought. Fine. I'll deal with this. Thanks for the info._

_Sis_

_

* * *

_

_Muffy,_

_Tell them all to get out. At once. I don't care what kind of warrants they have._

_Marge_

_

* * *

_

_To:  
Angelique Binford  
Director  
Department of Magical Transportation_

_Ms. Binford,_

_I am writing to request your assistance in a matter of some urgency. The personnel of my sub-department are being harassed by Aurors from Special Operations and Covert Operations who are attempting to get their hands on the same person's records with conflicting warrants. This is unacceptable! Can't anything be done?_

_Sincerely,  
Margie Jackson  
Apparition Enforcement_

_

* * *

_

_Daz,_

_Tell Nesbitt or whoever you sent over there to stop pitbulling my staff and get their arses out of my area before I sic Angelique Binford on them. This is your last warning._

_Marge_

_

* * *

_

_To:  
Codename Bright Phoenix  
Auror Covert Operations_

_Three words._

_1) Underage_

_2) Flying carpet. _

_3) Pensieve in a secure location_

_Do we understand each other? Get those agents out of my office now. I don't like being pushed around._

_Marge_

_

* * *

_

_Arthur,_

_Did you know Cov Ops and Special Ops are over at my office fighting over your daughter-in-law's Apparition records? Might want to do something about that._

_Marge_

_

* * *

_

_To:  
Maxmillian Brunch  
Director, Urban Tactical Division  
British Wizarding Army_

_Colonel Brunch,_

_I apologize for disturbing you at this inconvenient time, but persons disguised as Aurors have broken into my office and have taken the staff hostage. Could you possibly send a unit to take care of them? Thank you._

_Yours truly,  
Margie Jackson_

_

* * *

_

_Malfoy,_

_If you ever cause me this much trouble again I'm serving Nesbitt your head on a platter. Now tell me truth. What the hell was that Apparition Weasley pulled off, and when were you going to tell us you can do that shit? Impatiently awaiting your prompt reply,_

_Margie Jackson  
Apparition Enforcement_

_

* * *

_

_Mrs. Jackson,_

_I will look into this matter immediately. Thank you for bringing it to my attention._

_Angelique Binford  
Director  
Department of Magical Transportation_

_

* * *

_

_Margie,_

_I had no idea Nesbitt was headed over there. I'll speak with him at once. Sorry about any inconvenience._

_Daschel Duncan  
Supervisor, Special Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Marge,_

_Hold on now. No need to do anything rash. I'll see what I can do._

_Codename Bright Phoenix  
Covert Ops_

_

* * *

_

_Margie,_

_Really? What on earth for? I'll check up on them right away. Thank you for letting me know._

_Arthur_

_

* * *

_

_Mrs. Jackson,_

_I'm really, really sorry to disturb you again but things are getting very bad. An entire squad of Urban Tactical just arrived and are in the midst of a heated wand battle with Special Operations. I'm not sure either one realizes who the others are. The front windows are all shot out and we're all hiding under desks here. I hope this owl makes it to you alive._

_Muffy Brown_

_P.S. I quit!_

_

* * *

_

_Dear Mrs. Jackson Ma'am,_

_Itsy very sorry but Master not here right now. Itsy be sure to give Master very important letter the moment he returns. _

_--Itsy_

* * *

Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please review!


	36. Mother of All Messes

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 36: Mother of All Messes

* * *

The Burrow had been thoroughly ransacked.

Muggle media tended to portray a rifled house as having the furniture dumped over and the contents of all the drawers scattered all over the floor. Since that was actually the condition the Burrow's living-room had been in when Hermione last saw it, she'd halfway been expecting _that. _After all, Ron clean house? Seriously!

But a Wizarding house-ransacking took things to a whole different level. In fact, it took it so far that the true magnitude of such a catastrophe could not even be comprehended until one saw it with one's own eyes.

To begin with, practically everything was gone. The couches, the table, the lamps and the books off the bookshelves everything! Even the dust-laden Pigwidgeon was missing from the mantel. That isn't to say the place was clean, however. The floor was ankle-deep in discarded debris - Witch's Brew cans, crumpled papers, single mittens and used tea cups. The walls, floors and ceilings had been damaged in the search, some turned transparent and others pried apart with the boards and panels left lying strewn with nails sticking up for someone to step on.

Every window was hanging wide open, as were the back and side doors, and everything was damp as if it had been soaked thoroughly with water - even the walls and ceiling. A heavy stench of damp charred timber hung in the air, and through the windows she could see that far more than the original shed that had burned was gone now the whole row was gone. The fire must have flared up again and burned out of control after she was taken last night, before finally being put out.

As she hurried through the house in greater and greater panic, she found the cat from St. Mungo's cowering in a corner of a bedroom, but there was no sign of her own pets at all. Ron was missing too.

Everything of value had been taken, including from the attic and the cellar. The Weasley family magical clock had been pried from the wall and even Hermione's Muggle refrigerator had been confiscated. It was absurd. It was surreal. Even the junk on the floor had been thoroughly gone through -- pillows and bedcovers exploded leaving feathers everywhere, containers with see-thru charms cast on them or holes cut right through them, bits of clothing with see-you-seamy charms rendering them translucent. And there were dozens, if not hundreds, of tiny labels floating in mid-air identifying everything.

Hermione slid on a discarded spoon and went down hard, the knee still sore from Malfoy Manor's floor last night sending a jarring pain through her. She was still so stunned by everything that she was seeing that she didn't get up right away - just knelt there momentarily, then slowly sank back to sit on her heels, not having any idea what to do.

She took a few deep breaths, trying not to freak out. There was a logical explanation for this. Someone had to have made the decision to do this, and there had to have been some reason, and someone identifiable had to have done it.

Even as she drew her wand and clutched it to her chest for reassurance, the likely pieces began to fall into place.

* * *

First of all, she knew it had to have begun when Domestic Disturbances seized the papers Trelawney had given her and turned them over to Special Operations. Special Operations would have analyzed them, then turned them over to Nesbitt. Since Nesbitt had already had the papers in hand when Hermione arrived at the Triple-D headquarters, they'd obviously moved very quickly.

Once they'd seen Trelawney's documents, Special Ops' research facility had no doubt requested at least a cursory search of the rest of the Burrow for anything else that might be relevant. At that point Special Ops would have sent their own people for that instead of going through Triple-D, since since she'd already been found to have unreleased government documents in her possession and investigating that was within the purview of Special Ops. Unfortunately, this probably explained why she hadn't heard from Ron as well. He'd likely been ordered to leave when Special Ops arrived, or else done something hot-headed and gotten himself arrested.

At any rate, by that point there would have been two departments officially involved, Triple-D and Special Ops. Hermione knew that by law, any incident involving Aurors from two or more departments was required to go up for review by Auror Affairs. This was supposed to provide oversight, to prevent former Auror heavyweights like Nesbitt from recreating the power monopoly the Aurors had enjoyed by the end of the last war. Unfortunately, it took weeks for a proper investigation to get under way, and in the meantime all the oversight process really did was get all the information on Auror actions in one place, where other departments could see it and act on it quickly. Which, as more than one person had pointed out, was exactly the opposite of what was intended.

Hermione strongly suspected that after Domestic Disturbances and Special Operations had gotten done raiding the Burrow, every other group of Aurors who could reasonably claim to have legitimate cause to do so then descended upon the place and seized whatever they could get their hands on. Some of them at Nesbitt's prompting, no doubt, but there were other departments who might bear a grudge against Hermione due to her radical activities in her youth. A person couldn't run around doing things like creating an entire class of Freed Elves and working hand-in-hand with vigilante groups like the Order of the Phoenix without accumulating a thick dossier.

As Hermione stared dumbly about the living-room cataloging the damage, she realized Arthur must have been here for at least part of what happened. The Burrow's wards were all keyed to him and to his ancestors. Without Arthur's permission, they could not for example have searched inside walls, torn open ceilings, or pulled up floorboards. The house itself would have repulsed them, and rather violently at that. Ron could probably have given permission also, but he could have retracted permission too, and she couldn't see him standing by and watching all of this happen without freaking out.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she wondered if he had gotten himself arrested. Ron's temper was notorious, and unless Arthur had managed to get him out of there in time, he might have done something rash.

But why would Arthur have allowed all this to happen either? Unless he truly believed she might have done something wrong, or had no choice, he ought to have been able to stop them.

* * *

Floo powder was scattered all over the floor near the fireplace, mixed with the soot and grit of a dozen Aurors' comings and goings. Tiny bobbing labels hovered here and there near the floor, pointing out the "FLOO POWDER" and "HARDWOOD BASED ASH" and "CARPET LINT". They skittered away on the wind of Hermione's movement as she sheathed her wand, then began to awkwardly scrape the floor with the edges of her hands, trying to collect enough floo powder to initiate a fire-talking conversation.

Something round and hard rolled under her hand and she discovered the Knowitall Ball Trelawney had given her in the very beginning, when she'd given Hermione the Batwing assignment in the first place. Some help that would be! Hermione had tried to look at it at the time, but given it up as useless. Everything she'd seen so far in it involved batty old Trelawney practically undressing Malfoy with her imagination. Eugh! Unfortunately, unless she could find her briefcase somewhere in this mess, this Knowitall Ball was all the Batwing company information Hermione had left. With a sigh, she slipped the ball into a pocket of her robes and continued pushing together a pile of dust.

When she'd accumulated enough, she crawled the rest of the way to the fireplace, tossed the powder in, and stuck her head in to make a call to Aur Central, the office of Auror Affairs.

Maisie, the receptionist, answered. There seemed to be some sort of argument or confrontation going on in the background, but Hermione couldn't make out who it was or what they were shouting about.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley isn't here right now," said Maisie. "He's attending to an emergency."

"Pardon me? I don't think I quite heard correctly?" said Hermione.

"I'm sorry," repeated Maisie patiently, "Mr. Weasley isn't here right now. He's attending to an emergency."

"Tell him it's me," said Hermione. "He'll have to talk to me."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, but he's not here," said the receptionist maddeningly. "He's attending to -"

"An emergency, I get it," said Hermione, her temper starting to get the better of her. "What emergency could possibly be more important than his son's house, the Burrow, being taken apart by Aurors?"

"Well apparently Special Operations and at least one division of the Army are in the middle of a shootout with each other over at Apparition Enforcement," explained Maisie. "He went over to try to break it up before someone is killed."

Hermione was confused to say the least, but that didn't stop her from feeling a pang of dread as well. Special Ops in a wand battle against the Army? What could that possibly mean? It couldn't be good, that was for sure. And her recent line of thought about Aurors flouting the oversight measures wasn't helping reassure her any either. In any case, it was obvious more than just her own life was out of control and Arthur really did have more important things to do at the moment than explain to her about the Burrow.

"Well all right," she said at last. "This is very difficult, but I understand. Can you have him Floo me or owl me as soon as he can?"

"Of course," gushed Maisie. Her tone was warm, but the floo connection cut out partway through her last word.

Hermione gritted her teeth, but she'd obviously done all she could do there. With a sigh, she set about collecting as much of the rest of the Floo Powder as could be salvaged from between the hearth-flags and atop the mangled rug.

* * *

There was only enough for one more call. After some consideration, she bent down again and flooed Ron's apartment at the Cannons' Port de Soller training camp. It made her a bit uncomfortable to do so, because what if he wasn't alone? But she needed to know that he was all right, and not languishing in a cell somewhere waiting for rescue.

Surprisingly, when the floo was answered it wasn't Ron at all. It was a witch dressed in an orange miniskirt and with an orange-and-black Cannons top on.

"Oh, hi!" she enthused, when she saw Hermione - as if they were the best of friends. She was obviously the social type who had learned to handle people the way Hermione had learned to ace her NEWTs in school.

And she was gorgeous even Hermione had to admit that. Lean, athletic, and with improbably large breasts that pushed out the pair of cannonballs on her orange outfit in bas-relief. Her hair was honey-brown and shimmering, coming to her shoulders. Hermione could see why Ron couldn't resist -

Even as Hermione stared rudely, mouth fallen open, she refused to believe. No, this could be anybody. It wouldn't have to be Sheila Lasherton herself. Obviously there were plenty of female employees of the Cannons, and some of the players were witches as well. Just because there was a female human being somewhere on Majorca didn't mean Ron was having sex with her. Hermione was just being irrational. She was upset about the house was all.

So why could she feel her heart breaking, breaking, while she struggled for words?

"Ron," she said finally, her voice hoarse and tragic sounding. The perky witch looked startled, and Hermione tried to contain her emotions and make her expression at least semi-normal. The scene of destruction in the background couldn't have been helping, though. "Is Ron there?" she managed to ask. That's what she really needed to know. Not if this woman, this big-busted 25-year old thing was sleeping with her husband, no. She only need to know if he was all right, if he had avoided being arrested.

"Oh," said the beautiful witch, compassion in her smile. "He'll be at practice now. Do you want me to send for him?"

"No no, don't," said Hermione. She couldn't bear to actually see him. Not right now. She was just glad he was all right. "But you're sure? You've seen him this morning? He came back from England?"

"Oh, yes," the witch assured her, kindly. "He came back last night, and he's fine."

_Last night, _thought Hermione, insanity threatening to rise in her. _What did they do last night?_ But no. Best not to even go there. She couldn't cope with this, not right now.

"I'm Hermione Weasley," she said, not even knowing why she was saying this. "His wife."

The woman smiled again, kindly, tenderly. "I know," she said. "Should I let him know you were trying to find him?"

"Yes," said Hermione, feeling defeat wash over her. "Yes, let him know I Flooed when he's done with practice."

"I will," said the friendly witch. She looked like she wanted to help more. She looked like she cared. In fact, she looked like she felt sorry for Hermione.

Hermione felt like she was going to cry.

But no. She had to be strong.

* * *

As she closed the Floo connection and began to scramble around on the floor looking for salvageable paper for use in sending owls, she knew she could not afford to lose it emotionally now. She didn't even know if any of it was true. Malfoy was the one who'd told her about Sheila Lasherton, not Ron, and what did he know? Ron had admitted _something_ had happened, but there'd been no time for detail before Triple-D had explosively entered the scene. She had to wait and hear his side of the story before letting this ruin her life. For the sake of her sanity, she had to set it aside for now.

She had to warn her kids about Malfoy, just in case he tried to get revenge for what they'd done to Salazar. She had to tell Trelawney what had happened last night, because those confiscated papers could get Trelawney into a lot of trouble. And she had to decide what to do about the Burrow.

It had reached the point where triage was necessary. Only the most critical problems could be dealt with right now. Everything else would have to wait for later.

* * *

Away from the fireplace, the floor was ankle-deep in trash, debris, and discarded bits from the walls and ceiling. She crawled farther from the wall, rummaging through the trash until she managed to find a quill and collect a pile of crumpled, used parchments. Ink was a bit more difficult - she finally found some by casting _"Accio_ Ink!" but it had been rendered invisible, presumably to see if there were anything hidden inside. She saw a tiny glowing label "INK" whizzing through the air toward her, and before she realized what it was, the invisible bottle below it had smacked into her open palm so hard it nearly broke a bone. Hermione's eyes widened, and she switched the bottle to her wand hand so she could shake out her hand and check it for damage. "Ouch!!" she exclaimed belatedly, her outrage growing. "Nesbitt, you ooh! Ouch!"

Her knee slid over something slick and hard and flat, and she reached down to find one of the He-Says-She-Says charms there, still bearing some text from when the Aurors had been searching the house. She tried to read it, but she only got a glimpse of the words "tacky", "unbelievable", and "kitsch" before they faded out and new words were added in response to her own exclamation. She hastily averted her eyes, lest she be offended by its interpretation of what she'd started to say about Nesbitt.

It was not time to be offended about the Aurors' callous comments about her lack of funds or skills for decorating, either. She had to stay focused.

Carefully she gathered the papers and spent some minutes charming them to be more or less clean, smooth, and write-able. Only after she'd spent several more minutes searching for ribbons to tie letters with did it finally dawn on her: she hadn't seen a single piece of actual, non-trash correspondence in the house, nor any owls waiting, since she arrived. Normally when she'd been gone for so long, owls piled up at the Burrow. Knowing that Ron and Arthur were both busy, she doubted either of them had been by to pick the mail up. Molly maybe? Or maybe nobody had been by to pick up the mail at all. Maybe her correspondence was being diverted by Special Ops or someone else. She remembered hearing Aurors from other departments complaining that Covert Ops sometimes intercepted letters too. There might even be an owl-ward on the house redirecting the mail to a different destination.

With a groan of exasperation, Hermione levered herself to her feet, grabbed her knee momentarily, and then limped to the front door and opened it, expecting to find a ward-mark there for the owls.

* * *

Out on the front porch, the devastation wreaked on the Weasley property was a lot more evident. The grass was trampled flat, rubbish littered the ground, probably from the media who had been thronging there the night before, and everything was as soaked and muddy as if there had been a storm. Every one of the outbuildings had burned to the foundations, save for the stone ones which had lost their floors, windows and roofs. The chicken-house, set well away from everything else, had also been spared - but its door hung flapping in the breeze and the chickens, normally free-ranging during the day, were no where in sight.

As Hermione frowned and turned back to the door, she saw the owl-ward mark she had been looking for. There were also dozens of notices magicked to the outside of the front door, placed there by the different Aurors in compliance with the law, stating that the raids had occurred. Feeling sick to her stomach, Hermione rifled through them.

There were the original Triple-D and Special Operations notices, of course.

There were several ominous-looking notices from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, the Department of Domestic Disturbances again, and more alarming, a bright red notice from the Obliviators and a summons to appear before the Wizengamot for "mass exposure" of Muggles to "magical fire, explosions, and Malfunktioning Muggle Artifacts". This was supposedly due to "negligence, willful Lack of Control of Personal Emotions of a Dangerous Nature, and the Use of Wild Magic".

Hermione groaned. Passing Muggles must have spotted the blaze from the burning sheds and sent for the local fire brigade. That's where all the water had come from. And because of the stupid lie promulgated by Special Operations - that she had generated Wild Magic and caused the burning of the shed herself - she was now supposedly to blame for the exposure of Muggles to magic in the putting out of the fire.

Rage began to spark in her breast, despite her best efforts to squash it. The very idea of being punished for a load of Muggles trying to put out a fire set on _her _property by Special Ops and Triple-D, and the thought of all those poor firemen risking their lives battling magical explosions and darkness to save the buildings - while warded from Muggle eyes, Aurors plundered and pillaged inside - was enough to make her want to shriek.

But from the looks of things, she might have the Muggles to thank for there being much left of the Burrow at all. Without its protections, which would have to have been disabled to allow the Aurors to search, there was no reason it couldn't have burned just like everything else.

Then, and she really ought to have predicted this one, there was a notice from the Department of International Cooperation, which for some reason was also in charge of Wizarding zoning and building code regulations. They'd been on Ron and Hermione's backs for years about the Burrow's obvious need for magical support to remain erect, as this was no longer considered up to code. Still, since the Burrow was grandfathered in due to the structure's age, all the Zoning subdepartment could do was harass the Weasleys fruitlessly. Here was another example of that harassment: a citation for having improper fire protection charms on their buildings. It was as much of a joke as their other attempts, and it'd be easy enough to fend off in court once she was able to present documentation showing the Aurors had removed existing protections, but it would take insane amounts of her time and likely stretch on for weeks. As if she really needed one more thing to worry about!

After that came a notice and summons from the Improper Use of Magic office demanding that Hermione turn herself in for evaluation after her so-called Wild Magic usage, and something from the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures demanding to know what had become of the Ghoul that had been living in the attic and whether the Weasleys were hiding it elsewhere, which "as you must know, is in violation of the Dangerous and Unusual Pets Registration Act".

As she'd half-expected, there was also a bright green notice from the Insurrection Investigation Initiative, a boiler-plate "we're watching you" type notice that let her know that, despite the many years since she'd done anything vaguely revolutionary, the entity known irreverently as the "three eyed monster" was still checking up on her.

As if those weren't enough, there was one final notice tacked atop all the others, from the Bureau of Unusual and Magical Menageries Enforcement and Rescue. It stated that by order of the SPCMA, six cats, four owls, and twenty-five chickens had been 'rescued' from 'abominable living conditions and abandonment' as well as 'near certain death by fire' in and around the Burrow's grounds.

Hermione wasn't happy about this, but it was to be expected. There shouldn't be any reason she couldn't get all the animals back, provided she had someplace to keep them and acted in a reasonably timely fashion. But she figured she'd better take the accidentally-stolen cat back to St. Mungo's right away, lest the SPCMA return and abscond with that one too. It'd probably never find its master again if that happened.

* * *

**_BANG!_**

The unmistakable sound of an Apparition rang through the air, coming from inside the house.

Hermione jerked upright, adrenaline pounding, and her wand was in her hand in an instant. She charged back into the house with no thought other than that it was definitely an Apparition and she had to see who it was.

But she'd barely taken two steps through the door when something hard and invisible struck her solidly in the head. She staggered, flailing, and her hands came into contact with the object in question. She grabbed onto it and it resisted, buoyant, skidding through the air but not sinking. She stumbled two or three more steps into the house then managed to find her balance, still clinging to the well, what was it?

Feeling around with her hands, she recognized it as a Flying-I that had been left there either by Aurors or the media to spy on her. God only knew how many others there might be, if they had turned them all invisible!

But there was no time to worry about that now. There was someone in her house, and she had to know who it was and what they were doing.

She forgot about the Flying-I and ran through the rooms, wand at the ready, looking for the intruder. Where were they? Who were they? But even as she was searching, she started wondering if there was nobody there after all. She searched high and low, in every room and hall, and even peered warily into the holes in the walls, but there was no one.

Was it someone invisible? Or awful thought had there been someone here all along, who only just decided to leave, hoping she wouldn't hear?

Something had made that noise, and she'd be damned if it wasn't an Apparition or Disapparition noise. Not knowing who had done it or whether they were still on the premises positively creeped her out.

It was the last straw. She had to get out of here, to find somewhere she could think.

After making two entire circuits of the house looking for an intruder and failing to find anyone, she gave up on that and started trying to find the cat from St. Mungo's instead. But now she couldn't find the cat either. She searched high and low, and even tried _Accio _cat but that failed as well. She was practically in tears of frustration by the time she'd re-searched the entire house twice more. The idea of the accidentally-borrowed cat ending up in the hands of the SPCMA and possibly even getting destroyed, unbeknownst to its owner, was extremely distressing. But what could she do about it now? All she could do was bar all the windows and doors and hope she could locate the cat when she came back to the Burrow later.

But to tell the truth, the idea of ever seeing the Burrow again at this point gave her the absolute shudders. She knew the sense of violation and loss-of-territory was a simple reaction to the shock of the house being trashed and everybody's possessions missing, but knowing that intellectually didn't make her feel it any less.

Returning to what was left of the living-room she gathered up the parchments, ink, quill and ribbons and stuffed them into her pockets with shaking hands. As an afterthought she placed the He-Says-She-Says charm in a pocket as well, not because she thought it'd be needed but because she had an overwhelming sense of leaving on a long ocean voyage with only what she could carry on her back. It seemed necessary, somehow, to save every scrap she'd found of her former life.

Then she went through the house closing all the windows and doors, putting simple magical locks on everything. They wouldn't keep out Aurors, but they'd prevent the cat from squeezing out a transom or something.

* * *

Out on the side porch, as she made ready to leave, she discovered another problem.

Her broomstick was gone. The dolphin-gray Whisk Evoca Ron had bought her for Christmas last year hadn't been in the house, and now she could see it wasn't on its rack either. It could have been "collected" by Aurors, stolen by a member of the media or their support staff, or even used by an ignorant and desperate Muggle firefighter in the fighting of the blaze. _Accio_ broomstick proved futile, so Hermione sighed, and walked a ways farther out into the garden. Her feet crunched in the muddy debris: bits of lath and plaster, melted tidbits of Muggle artifact, and the deep embedded tracks of boots and Muggle fire-truck wheels.

A light breeze carried fresh air into her face, relieving the oppressive smell of burnt buildings somewhat. But all she wanted to do was escape.

She could turn into her fly form and ride that breeze for miles, where no camera or wizarding eye could possibly know her. She could spend days in the woods, or make her way toward the seacoast, and avoid her problems altogether until she could come up with some coherent plan.

But no! she thought resolutely. No more denial. She had to tackle this head-on or it was disaster for sure - for herself, for the Ron Weasley branch of the family, and maybe for a lot more than just them.

She held her wand up again, in Apparition position. Where would she go? To work? No; there was no place for her there, and she had no heart to spare for the battle over the storage of the Knowitall Balls. To Batwing? Poopsie might let her use Malfoy's office as a place to think, but if Poopsie were there, the house-elf would probably never leave her alone. To Majorca? There was an idea; there were loads of hotels and she'd be able to talk to Ron when he was done with practice. But no, it'd take a long time to get there by Public Portkey, and she had more problems here in England than she could afford to leave behind.

There was a wizarding coffeehouse in Ottery St. Catchpole just up the road. She could go there. She ought to be able to get a few owls off, and have time to decide what to do after that. Nobody would likely bother her there, at least not if she didn't stay longer than a couple hours at most.

Decisively, she lifted her wand. And with a BANG, all that was left was rubbish blowing through the dead and trampled garden.

* * *

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	37. The Howl

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 37: The Howl

* * *

_Dear Ron,_

_I heard you managed to get back to Majorca and that you are all right. I'm glad. You did see what happened to the Burrow, didn't you? I assume the Quidditch Barbecue is off?_

_I still think we need to talk about your spending time with Sheila Lasherton though. Was that her who answered the floo in your apartment this morning? What has actually happened between you two? This hurts me so much - I just don't understand how you could do it. But I want to understand. Please tell me._

_I've decided I'll be staying at my parents' house for a while. They won't be back from Africa for several months yet, and the wards are all keyed to me anyway. I plan to add a few more. If you need to get ahold of me and owls can't find me, wait for me there._

_I'm sorry for being so angry earlier - I know there has to be some logical explanation. I hope you'll tell me what it is. I love you._

_Hermie_

_P.S. Wait a minute. What am I saying?! You CHEATED on me, Ron! You admitted it! And I'm trying to deny it what am I INSANE? Damn it Ron, what is going on between you and that woman? Why was she IN your APARTMENT this morning? Why did she know you got back last NIGHT? You had sex with her, didn't you? RON, you've been HAVING SEX WITH SHEILA LASHERTON BEHIND MY BACK FOR YEARS!!! HOW COULD YOU!!!! IT'S BAD ENOUGH YOU DON'T COME HOME FOR WEEKS AT A--_

(4 additional pages of Howler omitted)

* * *

_Dear Arthur,_

_I remember what you said about me getting in over my head with "this Malfoy business" and at the time I thought you meant getting in over my head with Malfoy. I knew I could handle him, but I didn't realize the Aurors were going to be causing me trouble as well. I feel I very much am in over my head with them, and I'm ready to at least listen to your advice as I don't know what else to do._

_Speaking of Aurors, when I Flooed trying to get ahold of you today, I was told you were trying to break up a wand battle between Special operations and the Army. Is this really true? Arthur, this is seriously alarming. What is going on? Are the Auror problems more critical than anybody realizes? How soon until the media catches on?_

_Please reply ASAP._

_--Hermione_

_P.S. Why did you let them through the Burrows' wards? I'm not angry, I just don't understand. How could you do something like that? To your own ancestral property, to your own son and daughter-in-law? The place is utterly destroyed. There's holes in the ceiling and the carpets have all been ripped up. Everything of value is gone. I just don't understand._

_P.P.S. How come you didn't intervene when Nesbitt was questioning me last night? Couldn't you have gotten me out of jail right away? The charges were so patently ridiculous. And I felt a fool having my bail paid by Malfoy of all people. Not to mention having Nesbitt pumping me for information all night. Is there anyone in control of what Nesbitt does any more?_

_P.P.P.S. Arthur, the more I think about it the more upset I get. I'm literally shaking just thinking about it, and not just from nerves. What on EARTH were you thinking? This is the BURROW we're talking about! Were you even there? Who took down the wards? IT WAS YOU WASN'T IT? Ron may be a lying, cheating jerk but he wouldn't let a load of POWER HUNGRY VIOLENCE-PRONE AURORS RIP APART OUR HOUSE AND HOM--_

(6 more pages of Howler omitted)

* * *

_Dear Sibyll,_

_Malfoy said you had connections so I'm not sure how much of this you already know, but last night I was arrested on false charges by the Department of Domestic Disturbances. Special Operations set it up so that Nesbitt could get his hands on me for questioning about Malfoy -- on the record. They searched the Burrow and found the papers you gave me. I'm really sorry about this. I was careful not to carry any of them with me, but I didn't know they weren't going to be safe at the house! _

_I'm sorry I wasn't able to tell you about this sooner, but you see I only got out of jail about three hours ago and this is the first chance I've had to sit down and send an owl. The Burrow has been utterly wrecked, and I've had only about an hour of sleep, as Nesbitt questioned me nearly all night. I suspect I'm not thinking very clearly right now. I'm going to be staying at my parents' house, so if you're unable to get an owl through to me have them leave the letters there._

_Thank you, and sorry about this.  
Hermione Weasley _

_P.S. Why on earth did you include unreleased internal documents in what you gave me? And wherever did you manage to get them? No - nevermind. At this stage we're both better off if I don't know._

_P.P.S. Is the back stock gone from my office yet? Because I don't see how I'll ever be able to work if I can't even reach my desk. And before you say I'll be spending so much time at Batwing that it wont' matter, don't. There is no way Malfoy and I could see that much of one another without one of us killing the other._

_P.P.P.S. Also WHY did you pick me for this assignment? What on earth POSSESSED you? He hates the Muggle-born. He hates my family. I just came off a god-damned VACATION, Trelawney, what on EARTH made you think I could DEAL WITH THIS KIND OF STRESS, didn't it occur to you that I NEEDED a BREAK FOR MERLIN'S SAKE? I'VE ONLY BEEN ON THIS ASSIGNMENT FOR THREE DAYS AND MY HOUSE IS WRECKED, MY KIDS ARE IN DANGER, MY HUSBAND IS CHEATING ON ME, MY OWN FATHER-IN-LAW SEEMS HELL BENT ON DRIVING ME INSANE AND I WANT TO GRAB YOUR CLIENT BY THE COLLAR AND SLAP HIM UNTIL HE GIVES UP AND RUNS FOR HIS LIFE FROM THAT GOD-AWFUL MONEY HOLE OF A COMPANY OF HIS JUST TO SAVE BOTH OUR--_

(17 additional pages of Howler omitted)

* * *

_Dear Freida and Georgia,_

_I was going to send a Howler but well, the people in this café are really starting to look at me oddly._

_I really need you to do something for me. And you're not going to like it, but I must insist. I was at St. Mungo's this morning and saw what happened to Malfoy's son. It was simply appalling! I had no idea. I'm completely bewildered as to why the Headmistress didn't inform me of how serious it was. And how on earth did you ever think of doing such an awful thing? Do you realize he'll be crippled for life?_

_I'm afraid to say you are very much in danger now. Salazar's father only now found out the details himself, and he's positively furious over what happened. His lawyers are formidable and to say his financial resources outstrip ours is, well, an drastic understatement. Worse, I worry he'll try to take care of revenge in a more direct fashion if you were to leave the school. Do not, I repeat do not go to Hogsmeade tonight or tomorrow. Nor anywhere else outside of Hogwarts. You're probably safe enough at the school, for now._

_Love,  
Mother_

_P.S. I mean it. Don't just pooh-pooh what I say. I know you probably think you can take care of yourselves, and I'm sure you can - against other students. You two wouldn't stand a chance against Malfoy though, especially if he caught you by surprise. And he has plenty of friends he could bring along if he wanted to make sure of you. So stay inside, all right? Stay safe, and be good. For your sake, for your father's, and mine._

_P.P.S. Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into you two lately. You used to be such sweet, funny girls. Where did all this cruelty come from? I'm certain you couldn't have learned it from Charlie and his family. Have you been hanging around with the wrong sorts at school? And where on earth did you get Vampire's Breath for making Everlasting Glue anyway? It's incredibly rare._

_P.P.S. I just can't stop thinking about that poor boy! He's all wrapped up in bandages and can't even SEE or EAT or BREATHE. How could you DO such a thing? I'M TERRIBLY DISAPPOINTED IN YOU. No what am I saying I'm FURIOUS! I'M APPALLED! I'm ashamed and MORTIFIED that we could even be RELATED! HOW COULD ANY CHILD I RAISED BE SO CALLOUS AND HATEFUL? I DON'T CARE WHAT HE SAID OR DID! AND WHAT IF HE DIES? YOU'LL BE THROWN IN AZKABAN FOR SURE! OR SENT TO ST. MUNGO'S FOR EVALUATION AT THE VERY LE--_

(10 more pages of Howler omitted)

* * *

_Dear Christopher,_

_I realize you'd just as soon study all weekend as go to Hogsmeade yourself, so I'm not so worried about you, but since this Everlasting Glue thing happened I've been worried about your sisters. I've disallowed them from going to Hogsmeade for any of the rest of this weekend, and I need to ask you to help me keep them from going. Can you do that for me? I know you have a great deal of influence on them. Thank you._

_Love,  
Mother_

* * *

_Dear Jude,_

_I realize none of this had anything to do with you, but because of what's happened with your sisters and the Everlasting Glue I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to stay home from Hogsmeade tonight and tomorrow. I know this is a disappointment for you and your friends, but I think Freida and Georgia are in real danger. Salazar's father might try to take his revenge directly, or send someone else to do it, and Hogsmeade isn't safe. Will you help your brother keep the twins from going? Please, for me? Your father and I would be devastated if anything happened to any of you. I know you'll make me proud. Thank you._

_Love,  
Mother_

* * *

_NESBITT YOU AWFUL, AWFUL BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU SEND THOSE PEOPLE IN TO RUIN MY HOME WHILE YOU WERE QUESTIONING ME? WORDS DON'T EVEN DESCRIBE HOW ANGRY I AM AT THIS MOMENT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT KIND OF HOLD YOU'VE GOT OVER ARTHUR BUT IT'S GOING TO END. ONE WAY OR ANOTHER. I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUR SCHEME IS BUT IT'S NOT GOING TO SUCCEED! I REFUSE TO LET MYSELF BE PUSHED AROUND LIKE A COMMON CRIMINAL! NOR WILL I LET YOU KEEP BENDING THE AUROR LAWS EVERY WHICH WAY TO YOUR ADVANTAGE! THIS MEANS WAR!_

* * *

_To Whom It May Concern:  
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

_Hello, I seem to be in possession of a cat which accidentally passed through the Floo with me as I was leaving your waiting-area. It is a gray and black tabby. I believe it is safely locked up, though it may take me a while to find it as it escaped somewhere into my house. If you hear from its owner, please let them know to owl me. Thank you._

_--Hermione Weasley_

* * *

_Privately and Confidentially to:  
Jenny Vogue  
Head Librarian  
Department of Tomes and Writings  
Ministry of Magic_

_Jenny, do you think it'd be possible for me to spend some time in the library over the next few weeks without anyone being told? I know this is very irregular but I'm desperate. If there was anything I could do for you in return - anything - just name it. Thank you._

_--Hermione Weasley_

* * *

_Privately and Confidentially to:  
Hermione Weasley_

_Herm,_

_How about a large cash bribe?_

_Jenny_

* * *

_Dear Ginev Virginia, (sorry)_

_Thank you so much for your letter regarding Nellie. I'm sorry I didn't get back to you sooner but for some reason I didn't get it until now in fact I found it on the back of a piece of paper I was cleaning up to write some letters of my own long story._

_Yes, Nellie does seem a bit confused, doesn't she? Honestly, I've never understood what goes through her head, but this is even crazier than the usual. This business with Georgia and Freida and the Everlasting Glue can't be helping either. I think I'll go check up on her tomorrow morning. I need to go to Hogwarts anyway to make sure the others are staying safe at school and away from Hogsmeade._

_Look, you must know what's been happening to me since I got embroiled in this whole Malfoy mess. What's happened to the Burrow. It'd just going to get worse, isn't it? Is there any way you can get me some protection from the inside? Warn off some of these subdepartments that don't really have a lot to gain by harrassing me? Anything? I'd be desperately grateful. Please let me know._

_Love,  
Hermione_

_P.S. Say hi to Pansy for me too. Malfoy really misses her, you know. It's odd. He got quite upset when she came up in conversation and I don't think he was acting._

_P.P.S. What is the story with Narcissa Malfoy, his mother? Is she really missing? What is going on there? Do you have any idea?_

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_Hello, I'm sorry it's been so long since I've written. How have things been with you? I haven't heard from you in years, but I've heard you're still doing well._

_Look, I haven't much time before the reporters find me again so I'll come right to the point. _

_I've been wondering about your leaving the Aurors. I've never asked about it because you never brought it up and I didn't want to pry. But it had something to do with Nesbitt, didn't it?_

_Several people have hinted at whatever-it-was in the past couple of days, and I'm starting to suspect what happened has a good deal of bearing on what's going on right now. It certainly seems to be on everybody's minds._

_Would you tell me what happened? If it's not too painful? I really need to know, and I'm not sure I'd get the straight story if I asked anybody else._

_I'll be staying at my parents' house, so if you can't get an owl through, try there. Thank you._

_Love,  
Hermione_

* * *

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	38. Recipe for Disaster

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 38: Recipe for Disaster

* * *

**_POW!_**

_A vivid red flash leaped from the end of Hermione's wand, converged on Sheila Lasherton's chest, and turned her mammaries into two enormous musk-melons. The woman's mouth formed a surprised "o" as she tried to catch the fruits but too late. They fell to the floor and broke in half with a couple of messy splats._

_ "And as for you." Hermione rounded on Ron._

_ "Hermie, I can explain," he gibbered, frantically trying to locate his wand._

_ "Explain this!" she howled, aiming again. ZAP! Ron's male member was transformed into a petite aubergine. He quickly snatched up the vegetable for safekeeping, lest the same fate befall it as had befallen Sheila Lasherton's musk-melons._

_ And then -_-

-- Hermione awoke with a gasp, bolt upright in the dark in a strange bed.

_It's only a dream,_ she thought wildly. _It was only a dream._

* * *

It was late Saturday night. The day had passed in a seemingly endless haze of nightmare and reality. Hermione had collapsed at her parents' house for some sleep around noon, but since then she had awakened no less than five times and hurried back to St. Mungo's each time to make sure Malfoy hadn't broken free of that Paralyzing Draught yet. Because the moment he did, Freida and Georgia would be in danger once again. She knew what she or Ron would have done in Malfoy's place, and it was to be sure anything _he_ did would be a lot more drastic. But anything he did to Freida and Georgia would have to be over her dead body, because no matter how wrong their actions had been, she was determined to protect her children.

Luckily for Hermione, the Paralyzing Draught had proven to be remarkably tenacious stuff. As yet it had only partially worn off, despite its having been nearly twelve hours since it was applied. The last time Hermione had checked, Malfoy had been moved to St. James' office so the Healer could keep an eye on him while working on some paperwork after hours.

Once Malfoy was fully functional again, Hermione had no intention of letting him out of her sight until she knew Freida and Georgia were out of danger. So now that she was awake, she headed back to St. Mungo's to check up on him once again.

* * *

St. James' office resembled a cross between a library, a comfortable small den situated in a rustic hunting lodge, and the back room of an Apothecary. The furniture was heavy and primitive, the walls dark panelled and the ceiling a dusky brownish-orange. A fireplace roared merrily at one end, and an antler chandelier lit the room from above. The walls were lined with bookshelves and close-packed racks of different bottles, while the floor was dominated by a large cluttered desk and a smallish but comfortable-looking couch. The couch had apparently been covered with papers and books as well, but those now reposed in heaps on the floor.

Malfoy was curled up on the couch, looking tired and irritable. His robes, now more than a bit rumpled for having been slept in, were opened from top to bottom revealing a silken white under-robe. That, too, had been unfastened, but was arranged to be as closed as possible to protect his modesty. Most witches and wizards amongst the purebloods and the more traditional mixed blood families felt it improper to expose any skin but their hands, necks and faces in public.

He had a small round tin in one hand and was applying a clear salve or ointment to his ribs with his other hand, slipping his fingers carefully between the folds of cloth. It appeared he had been doing this for some time, at least judging from the still-drying sheen of salve glinting from the back of his neck and around the collar-line, the backs of his hands and his wrists. Particularly his left wrist. It probably coated his arm and shoulder as well. Hermione suspected it was some sort of anti-inflammatory or minor painkiller, such as one might use to combat arthritis, chronic stiffness, or general muscle and joint woes. However, the salve must have had a Smellbinding cast on it, because she was not able to detect its scent even in her fly form, making exact identification impossible.

St. James was still there as well. He was sitting at his desk reading the _Daily Prophet _and talking about having Healed Malfoy two years before. He'd been talking about this all the other times Hermione had checked in as well. Apparently this was a favorite topic for him, at least while in Malfoy's presence.

"Did you know," he was saying conversationally, "there are only ten Healers alive in all of the British Isles who have cured a Wizard who was injured by a Muggle gun? And only two of those were dealing with multiple bullets. Certainly nothing so severe as what I had to deal with in Healing you. Why, I was written up in the _Caduceus and Wand_ for it, and that doesn't happen to a Healer every day."

Malfoy dipped his fingertips into the salve again, then reached under his arm to apply it gingerly. He winced slightly at his own touch. He seemed to be concentrating intensely on what he was doing and paying absolutely no attention to what St. James was saying. This didn't seem to bother the Healer at all. Of course, St. James had cheerfully chatted away while Malfoy was under the worst of the wards and could neither remember nor truly comprehend much of what he said anyway. So perhaps it simply didn't matter to him.

"That's why I can't hate you for it, you know," continued St. James. "Although Merlin knows I ought to. Wands at my back, my poor wife Stunned, our house ruined. Yes, I ought to hate you, but Healing you drove me to perform like I had never performed before and never have since. I've been recognized for three separate advances in cardiovascular reconstruction, and two innovations in gun bullet removal that have since been taken up into the Manual of Emergency Medicine for Muggle Patients."

"How come," said Malfoy, "you never talk about the glass wand?"

St. James' monologue was broken. "The what?"

Malfoy's pale eyes travelled upward, came to rest on St. James' face. "You must have told me this story a dozen times over the last two years, and yet you've never mention the little glass wand. One of the others gave it to you, and you pressed the tip against me. It stung me, and then the pain was gone. You never talk about it."

"Ah," said St. James sourly. The change in his manner was dramatic, gone from bragging to guarded. "That's because I was hoping you hadn't seen that."

"I was right there, how could I have missed it?" said Malfoy peevishly.

"But you were dead," said St. James. "Aside from a very illegal technicality -"

"If I was dead, you wouldn't have bothered with any of that," Malfoy pointed out. "So obviously I wasn't. Now are you going to tell me about that wand, or not?"

"I'd rather not," admitted St. James.

There was a short silence.

"I remember what your friends looked like pretty well too. Maybe I should go find one of them and ask -"

"Fine, fine," said St. James, lifting his hands. "No need to get nasty about it."

"I think it's a fair question. You did use the wand on me, after all."

"I did, but-"

"Well?"

St. James sighed. "First of all, it wasn't a wand, it was a hollow needle. The glass part contained a clear fluid I injected into your bloodstream when I stung you with the needle."

Hermione could see Malfoy working it out in his head.

"A potion," he suggested. "A potion meant to be taken internally, but not orally."

"Not a potion," said St. James. "It was a a Muggle preparation."

Malfoy's eyes widened. "You gave me a potion made by Muggles?"

"No, it was - well yes, technically -"

"Jesus," said Malfoy, clearly taken aback. "What is it with you and Muggle artifacts? First scalpems and then this. You're getting as batty as that Arthur Weasley, and I don't mind telling you I find that frankly terrifying in a Healer."

St. James' lips pressed together. "This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you about it. I knew you'd throw a fit. But it's exactly _like_ a potion, except made without magic. At any rate, it worked, didn't it?"

Malfoy was still absorbing the news. He set the salve aside and let himself fall back against the couch, his eyes darting this way and that.

"Yes," he said, a bit belatedly. "It did." And after a further pause, "It worked unbelievably well."

"I'm not going to let you get your hands on any more of it," said St. James, "if that's what you're after."

"Why would I be after that?" said Malfoy scornfully and just a touch too quickly. "A Muggle potion. Who ever heard of such a thing?" He didn't meet St. James' eyes.

The Healer frowned. "I expect you _were_ after it, before I told you what it was, and now you're trying to decide if you still want it. Well, the answer is, you can't have it because I refuse to give it to you."

There was a significant pause.

"I'm willing to pay," said Malfoy.

St. James didn't seem the least bit surprised. "You can't just _buy_ the stuff, the Muggles have it highly regulated. There has to be a prescription, and -- "

"I can't be bothered with the details," said Malfoy impatiently. "I'm sure it can be worked out one way or another. All I want is the recipe. It _is _a potion, isn't it? Even if some fool did let Muggles get ahold of it. There must be a recipe for it somewhere. Tell me what it will cost to obtain it and I'll make sure the money gets to you."

"You don't seem to understand," began the Healer.

"No, _you_ don't understand," said Malfoy sharply.

There was a sudden, startled pause, as the Healer looked at him warily.

Malfoy took a deep breath, visibly attempting to calm down.

"I need that recipe. I'm quite wealthy, you must know this. Tell me what it's worth to you, including your trouble, and I will pay. Without argument. And you needn't worry about my telling anyone. No one ever need know it was you who passed it on. I'm perfectly capable of discretion."

"And what will you do if I say no?" inquired St. James unpleasantly. "Obliviate me? Murder me?"

A grimace found its way across Malfoy's face. "If that were the case, I'd hardly admit it now, would I?" he retorted. "Not while I'm wandless and at your mercy."

"How very reassuring," said St. James drily. "Why don't you try standing up again? Moving around a little should help disperse the last of the Paralyzing Draught more quickly."

Malfoy shrank back against the couch.

"No," he said. "Not just yet."

St. James did not argue this, but continued to look at Malfoy disapprovingly. "You know, I'm surprised at you. You really ought to have known better than to even ask about that needle."

"You needn't worry about me telling everybody you've been consorting with Muggles, if that's what you're worried about."

"I don't mean for my sake, I mean for yours," said St. James sharply. "You're only going to make things worse for yourself, pursuing those sorts of avenues."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me?"

St. James sighed in exasperation. "No, I'm not threatening you. I'm trying to save you from yourself."

Malfoy looked surprised and offended. There was a short pause, and then he said, "I don't require saving from my-"

"Look," said St. James. "You put a good deal of importance on the purity of your blood, don't you? In fact, I daresay it's what you and your family are famous for, that pride in _blood." _

Malfoy stared at him suspiciously, as if trying to decide between hexing him and demanding what on earth he was getting at. Of course, since he was wandless, hexing him was out of the question.

"Yes, of course," he said haughtily, falling back on arrogance. "What of it?"

"Then isn't it terribly ironic that your _blood _is actually about as filthy and contaminated as blood can get?"

Hermione gathered from Malfoy's gobsmacked expression that nobody had ever said such a thing to him in his life. For a moment he was struck entirely speechless. After that first startled pause, however, anger quickly suffused his features.

_"What?"_

"Tonight, if You-know-who calls you to perform a mission, what is the first thing you'll do?" asked the Healer calmly.

"Why should I tell you, you - " began Malfoy murderously.

"You'll lay on every pain killing salve and potion you can get your hands on, won't you?"

"That -"

"Your giant Adam Balm prescription is legendary around here. And don't tell me you haven't gone back to cooking up Pain-No-More at home."

Malfoy huffed in outrage. "How did you know about -"

"And when you've arrived at whatever sordid little hidey hole is the Death Eater base of operations for tonight," continued the Healer, "while they're giving you your instructions, they'll also be filling you with combat drugs to heighten your alertness, reflexes, and stamina. You'll go out and do your mission, the whole thing will last maybe an hour if that, and you'll still be high as a kite when you get home. The only reason you'll sleep at all is because you're sleep-deprived enough that you can pass out for two or three hours despite being under the influence. A short time later you'll be back in circulation, still half-hyped up, and tomorrow night you'll repeat the whole process before the stuff has had a chance to wear completely off.

"You've been doing this to yourself for years, Malfoy. You've built up tolerances for these drugs that are completely insane. The amount of this stuff in your system is incredible. I don't even want to speculate on what would happen to you if you went cold turkey on those combat drugs... it wouldn't be pretty, I'll grant you that. The shock alone would likely kill you."

Malfoy squirmed. Hermione recognized the look in his eyes - it was denial, pure and simple.

"You'd have to be weaned off them slowly... perhaps given temporary substitutes...."

"What's your point?" growled Malfoy.

"The point is," said the Healer bluntly, "your blood is so tainted it might as well be poison. And let's not even talk about Dark Magic. You've got so much of that filth on you I _still _set off Dark Magic Detectors and all I did was heal you once two years ago. And now you want to go putting even more heavy-duty, highly addictive painkillers in your system as well? Well, you won't. As your Healer - even if it was only once, and against my will - I refuse to give them to you."

"But why not?" exclaimed Malfoy, clearly not comprehending St. James' train of logic. "I'm hurt. You're a Healer. Where else would I get relief from this?"

"It's precisely _because_ you're hurt that I won't give it to you," said St. James.

"But that makes no sense at all!" protested Malfoy.

"Look," said St. James. He got up, walked around his desk to Malfoy's couch, and knelt down before him. He reached forward and took Malfoy's left hand; Malfoy flinched, but allowed him to draw it forward. The Healer slid his hand into Malfoy's in the position of a handclasp. "Now squeeze. As hard as you can."

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably. "What is -"

"You can't, can you?"

"This is ridicu-"

"Just do it. If you can."

Malfoy sighed, but adjusted his position and tightened his grip on the Healer's hand.

"Is that the best you can do?"

Malfoy muttered something sulkily, in which the words "paralyzing draught" could be heard. However, he didn't even seem to believe his own excuse.

"This isn't good, Malfoy," said the Healer. "That's nerve damage, and very difficult to heal magically."

"I know," said Malfoy, scowling. He withdrew his hand from the other's grasp and tucked it against his body, holding it with the right.

"Do you lose your grip on things? Small things, in particular? Your wand?" The Healer's eyes played speculatively over Malfoy's hands as the right protected the left.

"No," said Malfoy firmly. "I don't."

"Even when the painkillers wear off completely?"

Malfoy squirmed and looked away.

"Do you ever _let_ them wear -"

"Look, this isn't about my arm," interrupted Malfoy.

"No, I imagine it wouldn't be, would it? But it's an easy enough illustration to make. The arm is just going to keep getting worse. Eventually you're not going to be able to hold a wand at all, and I'm not talking about fifty years from now. I'm talking within the next two or three years."

Malfoy paled and looked away uneasily.

"Now this... this can be healed, but it will require rest. No fighting, and no re-injuring it for six months or longer. In fact, no using it at all, except when you can't avoid it."

"No using my wand hand?" Malfoy said in disbelief. "For six months? Please. I'd sooner kill myself."

"As a Healer, I cannot recommend that option," said St. James. "But you do see my point? The pain is your body's way of telling you to stop what you're doing. And if you ignore the warnings, if you don't stop, your body will simply wear out long before its time. And you're right, that arm is the least of your worries. This --"

The Healer reached out towards Malfoy's chest, but Malfoy pulled back against the couch, fending off the touch with an elbow. Hermione realized St. James must be referring to the damage done by those bullets, perhaps amongst other problems. The Healer did not attempt to touch Malfoy again, but only rocked back on his heels and looked at him seriously.

"Well. Do you see my point? You don't need a better painkiller, you need to stop doing what you're doing, because it's injuring your body further. It's not ethical for me to give you that painkiller because I know you'd only use it to get away with doing yourself more damage. You need rest, not more drugs."

Malfoy's right hand moved to pick up the tin of salve again. Given what St. James had said in his tirade, she now recognized it as Adam Balm. Adam Balm was a brand name for a harmless painkilling ointment which wore off after only a couple of hours but could be reapplied in unlimited amounts without side effects. Hermione imagined it would be very helpful for a person with old injuries that tended to stiffen up. The Smellbinding charm on it eliminated odors from its active ingredients: Calendula, dragon's breath ash, and mashed hedge-fairy.

"Yes, Adam Balm is safe," said St. James. "You can use as much of that as you like. But nothing stronger, or you aren't doing yourself any favors at all."

"You don't understand," said Malfoy, glaring at him in what looked almost like betrayal. "You _know_ what I'm trying to do with Batwing and all the rest of it. And with Salazar incapacitated it's going to take much longer than the three months it was supposed to. It might take a year, even two years!"

Hermione was suddenly on alert. What was that he'd just said? Unless she was mistaken, he'd just referred to plans not even Crabbe or Jones were privy to. The ones not even Trelawney and the Aurors had been able to figure out. Just how much _had _Malfoy told St. James? And what had Salazar to do with Batwing? She'd never heard Malfoy mention his son in connection with it before. Well, except to say he refused to work at Batwing on weekends when he could be visiting his son instead.

St. James appeared unmoved. "Well then, you'd better conserve your abilities hadn't you? Burning yourself out now isn't going to help, is it?"

"But -"

"Simply don't overdo it. Accept that you have limits and explain them to whoever-it-is that gives you your missions. If they want to keep making use of you, they'll have to accept that."

"That's not how it works," said Malfoy, clearly frustrated. He looked like he wanted to say more, but there were apparently some things that even St. James wasn't to know about. When he spoke again, Hermione got the distinct impression that it was a compromise between what he could say and what he couldn't. "I'm only valuable because I can do something no one else can do. If I refuse to do that, I'm useless. And people who aren't any good to the Dark Lord end up dead sooner rather than later. Do you see now?"

"But -" began St. James.

"There are no _buts," _said Malfoy fiercely. "That's how it is, and it's hardly a secret amongst those who know the least bit about the situation. Now are you going to help me or not?"

Hermione remembered what Malfoy had said, back in his Manor, surrounded by marble and crystal and enchanted friezes. He'd said _they'll simply keep pushing you harder and harder until you reach that point where family and survival become more important than anything else. _She wondered if that awful look she'd seen in his eyes at Ernie's, as dead and soulless as a killer's, was actually the look of killing or if it was simply the look of surviving - at any cost.

"No," said St. James quietly. "Not that kind of help, at any rate."

Malfoy looked as if he intended to retort, but just then, there came a knock on St. James' office door.

* * *

Hermione had quite a lot of new things to think about. But before she could think over them too much, St. James had returned from answering the door. He looked rather disturbed.

"They're saying Rudeo Nesbitt is in the lobby looking for you," he informed Malfoy. "Apparently he has a warrant to question you about what happened at the Apparition platform this morning and he's threatening to come up here after you if we don't deliver you immediately."

Malfoy managed to look both alarmed and confused. "What happened at the ?"

"Oh, but maybe you wouldn't know. It's all over the news tonight." St. James picked up his copy of the _Daily Prophet, _displaying a minor headline:

CELEBRITY WIFE DEFEATS ST. MUNGO'S APPARITION WARDS  
D.M.T. Denies Any Records of Stunt

Malfoy's lips twitched as he read the words. His expression grew incredulous. "Whaaat?"

Hermione was so stunned she didn't even register they'd called her a "celebrity wife". She'd known, of course, that people would think her fake Apparition was a real one. That was the whole point. Hermione had just assumed that everybody would think she'd been barely outside the Apparition wards when she disappeared. That was the simplest explanation. But if some overzealous reporter had decided otherwise and actually measured to find out well. Obviously nobody could really Apparate through those wards, but with Malfoy and his crazy Apparition talents thrown into the mix, it'd take weeks for them to decide that for certain. And then, once they'd decided she couldn't have Apparated, they'd set about figuring out what it is she'd really done. That was not good!

"It says here, _'The furor arose when several news media published recordings clearly showing Hermione Weasley, the estranged wife of Chudley Cannons Beater Ron Weasley, Apparating away from within St. Mungo's Apparition wards. Apparition Enforcement claimed to have no record of the Apparition.'"_

"Whhh," said Malfoy, sounding as if he'd just accidentally swallowed a particularly plump insect. He shoved the Adam Balm into a pocket and began to hurriedly re-fasten his robe. Hermione realized that he had as many reasons as she did to freak out about this particular news item. The last thing he needed was more reasons for Aurors to climb all over him, and if they somehow decided _he_ could Apparate through Apparition wards, he'd really be in trouble. There wasn't a Wizarding court in the world that would deny Special Operations their Apparition restraint charm then.

_"'Besides her colorful marriage woes, Mrs. Weasley is famous for having freed the House Elves," _continued St. James, reading. _"She later created the original Fun School Integration Activities Bus (FuSchIA Bus) to allow Muggleborn students to meet their wizarding peers and travel to obtain school supplies for Hogwarts, a program now popularly enjoyed in various incarnations by students worldwide. She has recently been in the news for collaborating on a business venture with suspected Death Eater and renowned Apparition expert Draco Malfoy. Neither Weasley nor Malfoy could be located for comment.' _Quite interesting, I thought," began St. James, when he was finished reading. "Though I have to wonder-"

"I have to go," interrupted Malfoy. "Where's your floo powder?" He lurched off the couch and promptly fell, evidently still semi-paralyzed. He would have ended up completely on the floor except that St. James dropped his paper and jumped to catch him. They grappled for a moment, with St. James trying not to drop him and Malfoy trying to squirm out of his grip.

"I have none here," said St. James. "Take it easy, slow down."

"No, I have to go _now," _said Malfoy, clearly distraught. He clung to St. James and managed to get his feet back under himself.

"You're not going anywhere until you can walk properly," admonished St. James. "Why don't you walk around in the office a bit and flush out a bit more of that Paralyzing Draught? Here, I'll help you."

"I can't let Nesbitt catch me like this," puffed Malfoy as St. James looped the smaller man's right arm over his own shoulders and started to walk him around the office.

"He won't," said St. James soothingly. "At least he couldn't, not without searching the building exhaustively. He'd meet a good deal of resistance if he tried." Hermione thought that this was a terribly weak reassurance, considering Special Operations agents had probably memorized the unplottable St. Mungo's from top to bottom decades ago and passed the mental maps down by oral tradition. And St. James' office wasn't exactly in a secret location. They'd only have to find one person who knew where Malfoy was recuperating, or maybe they'd only have to know which Healers were known to associate with him.

"My publicist must be frantic," said Malfoy, already moving on to the next topic of panic. "And my lawyers nobody knows I'm here."

"Well, you'll be good as gold in only an hour or two. You can contact them then."

"Remind me to thank Mattham for this Paralysis Draught personally," panted Malfoy savagely. "When I get my wand back!"

"This is why we have a policy of disarming you before allowing you in," St. James said drily. "You're a bit predictable, you know."

"Is that Draught even cleared for use on patients?" Malfoy wondered, ignoring the jab at his personality as St. James hauled him along step by step. "It seemed awfully powerful and fast-acting."

"First of all, with all the Death Eater rubbish you have in your system right now, nothing else would have worked," replied St. James. "And secondly, no, it hasn't been cleared for use on patients but you were not yet a patient at the time it was used. It's been authorized for use in security situations."

"By security personnel only, I'm guessing," said Malfoy as they negotiated their way awkwardly around the end of St. James' desk. "And Mattham is not security personnel."

"True, however, since you were attacking her personally, the exception of self-defense applies," said St. James drily. "Really, we have thought this out, you know."

Malfoy grimaced but said nothing as they limped together back down the other side of the room.

"Since we're on the subject of ill-thought-out impulsive revenge," said St. James conversationally, "have you given any thought to how you're going to handle taking action against the Weasley girls who injured your son?"

Hermione took off and flew down to their end of the room to make sure she didn't miss a word.

"Why, so you can report me before I even manage it?" retorted Malfoy.

"No, actually, believe it or not, I was going to try to talk you out of it so you don't get yourself arrested."

"Ha, don't bother," said Malfoy bitterly. "It's perfectly within my rights to cast a Multigenerational Revenge Curse that'd have those two brats and all their descendants wearing donkey's heads and tails until the dawning of the Age of Capricorn, and believe me I've spent much of the last three hours perfecting the wording I'd use. But I daren't use it. God help me, I can't afford to offend Hermione Weasley now. Not even for my son."

_Batwing, _thought Hermione with a shiver.

"I'm glad," said St. James.

"I'm glad _somebody's_ happy about this mess," Malfoy snarled.

The more Hermione heard, the more obvious it was that Trelawney and Zabini were right. Whatever Malfoy was trying to do with Batwing, it was of life-or-death importance. But why was it so important? What could he possibly be trying to do? That was Nesbitt's Million Galleon Question, and it wasn't just Nesbitt's influence that was making the entire Batwing project seem more and more ominous.

They were approaching the couch again. Malfoy slowed down, forcing St. James to stop as well.

"Do you want to wait a bit longer?" suggested St. James.

"I think so," said Malfoy. He sounded frustrated. He also sounded tired. There was a bit of a shuffle as St. James helped him sit again. "I'm going to complain to your superiors about that Draught it needs to be regulated. She can't just go about Paralyzing people."

"I suppose she ought to press charges against you for assault, then, as well," said St. James. "After all, it's only fair."

Hermione was just trying to decide whether he was joking or serious when a second knock on the door resounded through the room, this one firm and authoritative. Malfoy and St. James froze like rabbits.

"It's him," hissed Malfoy.

"I have to let him in," said St. James.

"Are you insane? You do not want Rudeo Nesbitt to see you with his own eyes or he'll never leave you alone again. He's like one of those Muggle dogs that's trained to never let go once its bitten."

"Dear Merlin," said St. James, rapidly losing his composure. Hermione could sympathize. She'd only been having Auror problems for three days. She couldn't even imagine having them for two years.

"Quick. Out the window," Malfoy ordered him. He pointed at the room's single window, which was so heavily and darkly draped it barely seemed like a window at all. St. James gawped.

"Out there? But it's just a ledge. I'd have nowhere to go!"

"Never mind that. By the time he gets done breaking in, he'll never consider you were here. He'll be concentrating on me. Go quickly."

"This is insanity," complained St. James. But he must have wanted to get out of there fairly badly, because he pushed aside the curtains, opened the window, and put a leg out.

The door shook with the intensity of the pounding on it.

Hermione should have known better than to expect Malfoy's intentions in offering an escape route to the Healer were purely altruistic. The moment the window had closed behind St. James and the curtains fallen back into place, he pushed himself to his feet and made his way to one of the shelves of jars, clinging to the walls for support. He reached unerringly for one particular jar containing a pickled Double-Ended Centipede, then turned and staggered back to St. James' desk, grabbing at anything he could reach for balance.

_Bam!_ The banging on the door had steadied into rhythmic, heavy booms. They were trying to break the door down.

Sweat had broken out on Malfoy's forehead. He plunked down in St. James' chair and opened a desk drawer, found a letter opener. He used it to break the wax off the jar then pry the cork out with a loud pop.

_**BOOM!** _

Malfoy cringed as some sort of magical explosion went off on the other side of the door. Plaster trickled from around the edges of the door-frame. After a moment though, he resumed his work, using the tip of the letter-opener to fish the Centipede out of its preservative juices. _Slap. _The Centipede landed on the desk. Malfoy quickly slit the specimen from end to end, then lifted out its digestive tract with the tip of the knife.

_Double-ended Centipedes eat Vernica leaves,_ Hermione remembered suddenly. _Vernica powder is used in making Floo powder. Vernica powder, wood ash, and Eye of Newt._

Malfoy grabbed the centipede gut in both hands and squeezed its messy green contents all over the photo of Hermione on the Daily Prophet.

_Eye of Salamander, used in the ink used for printing moving pictures, _she thought. _Close enough._

Unfortunately, she had no time to be impressed by this evidence of survival skills on Malfoy's part. There was a short suspicious silence from behind the door, and then suddenly latch clicked loudly, unlocking.

"Merlin's bloody teats," swore Malfoy, his voice raw with stress. He tore off half the newspaper page and dove for the fireplace, just as the door slammed open courtesy of an Auror's boot.

"Got you," crowed Nesbitt, plunging in past the other Auror to pounce on Malfoy before he had time to do more than fling the paper into the fire and fall flat on his face on the hearth. The fire flared a sickly green, briefly, but the moment was lost.

"Get off me!" Malfoy hissed frantically, fear mingled with fury, as Nesbitt hauled him heavily to his feet.

"Oh no, not yet," said Nesbitt. "You and I are going to have a little talk. About Apparition wards."

"I don't know anything about that Apparition of Weasley's," gasped Malfoy, hate twisting his features as he was dragged by Nesbitt toward the door. "You have no proof I had anything to do with that!"

"But I do have a warrant to question you about it," said Nesbitt, "which is almost as good. Don't you think? Come on lads we're adjourning to the courtyard."

And Malfoy was pulled scratching and spitting out of St. James' office.

_Do I really want to watch this?_ Hermione asked herself. Not really. She'd had about as much as she could take of Nesbitt the night before.

But though she would have thought that no emergency could ever compare in magnitude to her children being in danger, this Apparition issue was it. She'd never before come so close to being found out. And if she was found out, she could go to Azkaban for life. They might force her to betray Rita Skeeter as well. Malfoy wasn't likely to cooperate with Nesbitt, but then again if they had caught her on media, how long would it take for someone somewhere to spot some crucial bit of evidence? The more she knew about the investigation, the better off she'd be.

_Just when I thought things could hardly get worse, _she groaned internally.

And then she raced out the doorway, following after the Aurors and Malfoy.

* * *

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	39. Hushed Wings

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 39: Hushed Wings

* * *

(Arrived at Triple-D Headquarters at 11:05PM Friday night and was intercepted by Auror Special Operations)

_Dear Hermie,_

_I've owled dad. He'll have you out of there in no time! The garden is just crawling with reporters. It's worse than it was when you left. There must be three hundred people here, including the camera-wizards and so forth. Sorry this is so brief, but I think they've broken into the broom shed and I'd better go investigate._

_Your Ronniekins_

* * *

(Arrived at Triple-D Headquarters at 11:59PM Friday night and was intercepted by Auror Special Operations)

_'Mione,_

_I haven't heard back from dad yet I wonder what's happening? But don't worry, I'm sure he's on it. I know you're not going to want any more bad news, but the fire from dad's old experiments shed has spread to the broom shed. A couple of the Flying I operators had dropped everything and were trying to rescue the brooms when I got out there so I guess not all media wizards are ogres. By the way, I didn't hear anything back from you after my first owl so I hope you got it all right._

_Your Ickle Ronniekins_

* * *

(Arrived at Triple-D Headquarters at 1:20AM Saturday morning and was intercepted by Auror Special Operations)

_Herm,_

_You're not going to like this, but I've just been thrown out of the house by Auror Special Ops. At least I think it was them. They were wearing unmarked black uniforms but I saw Meedwaller among them he's still with Special Ops isn't he? I tried to stop them but I was told I was interfering with an investigation._

_I thought Malfoy was just consulting you about his business. But they wouldn't be going to all this trouble just for that, would they? Hermie you'd tell me if you were involved in anything really serious, wouldn't you?_

_I'm sorry about what happened with Sheila Lasherton, but I can explain. It's not what you think. Can we talk?_

_Ron_

_P.S. I didn't get a reply to the second owl either. How come you are so difficult to owl? Half the time if I don't tell them to just leave the letter where you'll find it later, they come back saying they can't find you. Have you been avoiding me?_

* * *

(Arrived at Triple-D Headquarters at 2:45AM Saturday morning and was intercepted by Auror Special Operations)

_Munchkin,_

_I tried owling dad again just to find out what is going on, and got no answer. That's odd I wonder if Misuse of Muggle Artifacts is on a raid tonight? That might explain it. You know how he can't resist helping them out on particularly tough cases. If you want me to stay in England tonight you'd better owl me back soon, because the Aurors have chased me off the property twice now. I've been peeking through the windows and I can see them searching the place really thoroughly. What are they looking for? What have you gotten yourself into? Hermione, I know you're upset with me over Sheila, but I deserve some sort of explanation don't I?_

_--Ron_

* * *

(Arrived at Triple-D Headquarters at 4:08AM Saturday morning and was intercepted by Auror Special Operations)

_Hermione,_

_I just managed to talk my way out of being arrested for interfering with an investigation. It's just a good thing Meedwaller knew the sergeant's nephew is a raging Cannons fan. I hope you're happy; I'm broomless, homeless (wait until you see the Burrow!) and now I'm shirtless too thanks to that little impromptu autograph session. I'm going back to Majorca and I'm taking your broom to get there. Owl me when you're ready to talk._

_--Ron_

* * *

(Arrived at Triple-D Headquarters at 7:15AM Saturday morning and was intercepted by Auror Special Operations)

_Herm,_

_I've arrived in Puerto Soller safely. Blue with cold, but safe. I forgot to mention it before, but I think we're probably going to lose all the outbuildings. That fire was getting pretty bad by the time I left. It might even spread to the house. They hadn't found what they were looking for and they were in the middle of setting up a wards-stunner when they ordered me to leave. I thought all those had been destroyed after the wars? Anyway, if they use that, the house won't be fireproof at all._

_I'm going to get cleaned up and go apologize to the lads, and kiss Pentwick's arse for disappearing last night and missing a team meeting. We have a goodwill game against the Ibizatown Princes today after practice so I probably won't get your owls until after it's over, but I'll reply then. Love you._

_--Ronniekins_

_P.S. Sorry for sounding so upset with you in my last owl. I was just upset. You'll see why when you get home._

_P.P.S. I'm owling dad again._

* * *

(Arrived at the Granger residence at 11:43AM Saturday morning but was intercepted by Auror Special Operations.)

_What the Hermione! I can't believe you sent me a Howler during a game! What is wrong with you? You're completely out of control, you are! Do you realize that bloody Howler ruined the game? So much for good will. Why couldn't you just wait until after? I said I'd talk to you about it!_

_--Ron_

* * *

(Arrived at the Granger residence at 2:17PM Saturday afternoon but was intercepted by Auror Special Operations.)

_Hermione,_

_I just talked to the friend I had staking out my apartment for me in case you tried to owl me there. She said when you flooed you didn't even know if I'd be in Majorca. Did you get any of my other owls? Did you get my last one about the Howler? _

_Look I can understand why you'd be upset. Obviously you've seen the Burrow half Majorca knows that now. I'm sorry but I couldn't stop them! And nobody took down the wards, dad wasn't even there. It was a wards-stunner bomb. I thought I'd told you, but if you didn't get that owl - well it doesn't matter. The point is, you're all right, I'm all right, and we really do need to talk. When can we meet? Do you want to come here for a few days?_

_Your Oodly Boodlums_

* * *

(Arrived at the Granger residence at 5:46PM Saturday evening but was intercepted by Auror Special Operations.)

_Hermione? Why am I looking at a tabloid photo showing you and Malfoy holding hands on the St. Mungo's Apparition platform? I finally got around to reading the newspapers and every one of them has something about you in it. If it's not about you flipping your wig and blowing up dad's shed, it's about this crazy Apparition stunt they say you did. I didn't know you could do that! Did Malfoy show you? Why was he holding your hand, anyway? You've got to talk to me and tell me what is going on. I still haven't heard from dad either. I'm about to go mad, here._

_--Ron_

* * *

(Arrived at the Granger residence 6:14PM Saturday evening but was intercepted by Auror Special Operations.)

_Hermione,_

_Jesus, I just found out Malfoy paid your bail. I can't even describe how humiliating that is. I don't want to be in that bastard's debt, do you understand? We'll find a way to pay him back as soon as possible. Even if it means offering up signed Cannons shirts to high demons. Or is that what the hand-holding was all about?_

_I finally heard back from dad. He did help out Misuse of Muggle Artifacts on a raid last night, and apparently the postbox they were after had been charmed with a powerful Hungry Object enchantment. It was to attract Muggle postal-workers and eat anything they put in. But apparently it also tended to lure down and eat owls carrying post not addressed specifically to the fellow who lived there. So I'm afraid Puffy and all those public owls I sent while dad was there may have met a bad end. But I'd rather not think about that right now._

_At any rate, dad was wrestling with that all night and then he got called to some emergency up at Apparition Enforcement first thing in the morning. I think it was the inkwell explosion that was in the papers. Did you read about that? He wasn't able to answer any owls until just now. He was horrified and said he'd look into everything that had occurred._

_I hope you'll get this owl at least. Please, please, please reply if you get it. I want to know what is going on and make sure you are all right._

_--Ron_

* * *

(Arrived at the Granger residence 7:32PM Saturday night but was intercepted by Auror Special Operations.)

_Herm,_

_The evening edition of the local paper had a huge article in the sports section about my Howler and how the Princes won because of it. Well, technically won. There's a lot of people who think the game should be considered cancelled, considering most of the players and fans had fled the pitch by the time that damn Howler ended. I'm sure it'll have made it to the news where you are by tomorrow. I'm feeling very depressed right now. Please answer my owls._

_Ron_

* * *

(Arrived at the Granger residence 11:55PM Saturday night but was intercepted by Auror Special Operations.)

_Hermie,_

_I'm about to die from lack of sleep. I have to go to bed. Just send one letter. Just one. I finally owled Ginny and had her go by your parents' place to see if you were there. She did swing by but couldn't find you. I asked her if there were any Aurors there and she refused to say. Where are you? Are you all right? Please send me an owl! I'm going to sleep but I have someone waiting to wake me up if anything arrives._

_Your Ron_

* * *

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	40. Would You Like Spies With That?

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 40: Would You Like Spies with That?

* * *

A heavy rain had started up, thoroughly soaking St. Mungo's courtyard and Apparition platform. A Pillow-Wisp tethered overhead suffused the area with a cold brilliant white light, and droplets of moisture formed illuminated halos around everything and everyone. People's breaths puffed out like dragons' steam in the chilly air. Despite it being well after midnight there were three dozen Auror Special Operations staff people there, from Aurors to technicians to aides, all busily trying to figure out just how Hermione had "Apparated" from within the wards. Representatives of the Department of Apparition Enforcement, however, were conspicuously absent.

By the time Nesbitt and Malfoy emerged from the building, Malfoy was no longer struggling, but instead allowing himself to be towed stiffly along. He also had a dot of blood marring his lip. Perhaps they'd had one of Nesbitt's little persuasive sessions in the stairwell. If the others noticed, they gave no sign; people didn't last long on Nesbitt's crew if they noticed those sorts of things.

"You're wasting your time," Malfoy said resentfully as Nesbitt hauled him into the brightly-lit area underneath the Pillow-Wisp. "If it was through the wards, it wasn't an Apparition."

"Oh, yes it was," said Nesbitt. He sounded almost gleeful.

"No, it wasn't," Malfoy insisted. "These wards can't be Apparated through - I helped rebuild them myself last year. They're impervious."

"Except to Weasley," Nesbitt pointed out, as they passed through some glowing lines and arrows someone had put there to show the wards and the spot where Hermione had seemingly vanished.

They arrived at a large portable table upon which hundreds of crystal balls were crowded. Each ball was in its own raindrop-beaded plastic evidence-bag. They appeared to be recordable media from various news-teams. Technicians clustered around them, signing them in and out and studying magically waterproofed sheafs of paper with lists of the balls' contents.

Malfoy's pale eyes barely skimmed the setup before returning to Nesbitt. "Except to anybody! If I can't do it, no one can."

"Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy," laughed Nesbitt. "It's clear you're simply jealous that a Muggle-born witch has figured out how to do it and you haven't." He pushed Malfoy in the general direction of the table and let go, forcing him to grab quickly at the edge of it for support or risk falling.

Malfoy ignored the glares of the staff people he'd knocked into; his attention was all for Nesbitt.

"It could have been anything," he insisted, clinging to the table. "Extraplanar travel -"

"Which St. Mungo's has also been warded against," Nesbitt reminded him. An aide handed him a thick sheaf of waterproof-charmed papers which he began to thumb through.

"Against normal extraplanar travel. But Trelawney said Weasley has had episodes of existential incoherence - "

"Poppycock," said Nesbitt succinctly, handing that report back to the aide and accepting another one.

"But if she were a tiny Animagus, then," said Malfoy. "The relevance filters on the recordings would cut out some insects -"

"There's no known case of an insect Animagus," Nesbitt pointed out. "And if there was a rat or some such, we'd have found it."

Of course Malfoy would know full well there was at least one insect Animagus in the world; he'd been privy to Rita Skeeter's secret even longer than Hermione had. But it was also true that most magical recordings of people and events intentionally omitted things like flies and rubbish as unsightly clutter. Hermione had never worried about being recorded on the news for that very reason.

"Even so," said Malfoy as Nesbitt moved away from him to reach for a thick binder of papers lying at the other end of the table. "And if it was an Apparition, it'd have to have been an indirect one. She may have accidentally deflected off the edge of the wards. She was close to the edge, and theoretically -"

Nesbitt reversed course and came face to face with Malfoy, smacking him in the chest with the binder. "Here. Why don't you park yourself somewhere and amuse yourself with this until we're ready for you? And have you ever reflected off the edge of Apparition wards?"

Malfoy took the binder reflexively as he was pushed back a step. "No but ."

"I didn't think so." Nesbitt grinned a predator's grin. He turned away and started giving orders to some of the other staff.

Malfoy closed his mouth firmly and his nostrils flared. He took a half-step after Nesbitt, but one of the aides moved to intercept. "I wouldn't get in Mr. Nesbitt's way if I were you," she said quietly as she took him by the elbow and steered him away from the table. "No disrespect intended, Mr. Malfoy, but he's a very busy man. Why don't you just sit here until he needs you for something?"

Malfoy huffed in annoyance but let her sit him down in a wooden St. Mungo's lobby chair someone had left under the Pillow-Wisp's intense light. "Fine," he muttered under his breath.

Unlike everybody else, Malfoy hadn't a wand to charm himself against the rain and so his hair and clothes were already matted with water and his fingers left droplets on the binder's protections. As distracting literature went, the binder's contents were pretty dull stuff: lists of people, animals, weather phenomena and so forth and the time/date stamp of the sighting and which media balls the sighting had been recorded on. Malfoy flipped randomly through it for all of four or five seconds before he looked impatiently to where Nesbitt was talking to some of the workers.

* * *

Hermione knew as well as Malfoy did that Apparition through properly-constructed Apparition wards was impossible. The wards operated on the principle that preventing magic was much easier than making it happen, and to prevent the magical movement past the ward all that was required was to set impossible conditions to be met.

A simple Apparition ward for the Burrow, for example, might be built on the premise that one must be a member of the Weasley family to Apparate to that location. Of course, if someone new married into the family or if there was a previously unknown family member lurking about, those people would be included also - possibly without the ward's caster's knowledge. Therefore serious Apparition wards were usually built with many layers of rigorous conditions.

Commercial Apparition wards usually began with a fundamental prohibition based on the unsolved Great Mysteries of the wizarding world. A second layer included a requirement that the Apparater have permission from some specific person or persons, usually someone who didn't hand this permission out to just anybody. In the case of extremely tight wards where nobody was expected to get through, the permission-granting person might have been dead for centuries or never existed in the first place.

Several other layers would follow depending upon the preferences of the people who were building the wards, ending in a few "special touches" unique to those builders. These special touches might include backdoors knowable by only one person, or emergency conditions which could be met on an as-needed basis by certain people. On wards as extensive and highly-contested as St. Mungo's, any such "special" conditions would have been limited to those agreed upon by a committee of the wards' builders. For safety's sake it was always best to have a team of ward-builders who didn't like each other very much, in order to ensure the tightest possible warding. Likely that's how Malfoy had become involved in the rebuilding of St. Mungo's wards; he did contribute a good deal of money to St. Mungo's and it was safe to say most of the other people involved in rebuilding the wards wouldn't trust him in the least. The combination of extraordinary expertise, vested interest and unlikeability made him perfect for the job.

No matter who had worked on them though, St. Mungo's wards had always set a standard for security and were considered absolutely unbreakable by anyone who knew Apparition wards. Hermione could see why Malfoy would freak out at the idea of potentially losing his own Apparition privileges for any reason - the idea losing them because of paranoia on the part of an ignorant government had to be even worse.

But Hermione had herself to think about too. The same ignorance that threatened Malfoy also protected her. So long as Nesbitt remained convinced it was a real Apparition he wouldn't take the alternate theories as seriously as he ought to, and that was all to Hermione's advantage. It went without question that Hermione could not allow a single person to find out about her Animagus form now. It'd be Azkaban for certain if they did.

* * *

By the time Nesbitt returned some forty-five minutes later, Malfoy was shivering miserably, his robes thoroughly damp and his whitish hair plastered down. He'd finally resorted to occupying himself with the binder, muttering imprecations and pinching the corners of the pages of listings. For her part Hermione had been forced to retreat upward and land on the brilliant underside of the Pillow-Wisp where it was warm and dry and nobody would be able to see her for the glare.

From above she watched as Nesbitt strode over to Malfoy and handed him a bludger-sized crystal ball in a bag. Through the wet plastic Hermione could faintly see human figures moving around within the ball. "Here," Nesbitt said triumphantly. "There are three different angles. Have a look and we'll see what you think then."

"If you're going to keep me here all night," said Malfoy peevishly, "the least you could do is provide me with a water-repellant charm. I'm soaking wet and half frozen. And how do you expect me to See anything in light like this? I won't stand for this treatment. Arthur Weasley will -"

"He'll laugh in your face," said Nesbitt heavily, his good mood evaporating quickly. "Use your hand to shade the ball, and for the love of Merlin, stop whining. I've seen agents with both legs blown off show more fortitude than you do. It's only a bit of rain."

Malfoy growled and snatched the bag from Nesbitt. Hermione dared to steal down from above and land on the back of his chair where she could see better too.

Inside of the ball, her miniature self drew her wand and 'Apparated' away, the reporters closing the gap. Because it had been caught by news recordings, thousands of witches and wizards must have seen it by now. Worse yet, the recordings would always be there to be examined again and again! Never before had her snap transformation faced such an awful test.

Still, it looked very good from what she could see. _She_ certainly would have been fooled. Malfoy grew very still and quiet as he watched, and said nothing as it finished through to the end and started over again from a different angle. He watched all three sequences twice before Nesbitt reached over and took the ball away from him.

"Well?" demanded the Auror.

"I have no explanation for this," said Malfoy. He seemed tired and troubled.

"So you believe it was an Apparition, now?"

"It _looked_ like an Apparition," admitted Malfoy. "But I still don't see how it could be possible. I'd be looking into the alternatives first."

"What alternatives?" Nesbitt grinned mockingly. "Those ridiculous notions you were throwing out earlier out of sheer denial? Perhaps Weasley transformed herself into a puff of wind and simply blew away over the wall ?"

Malfoy's lips tightened. "It wouldn't have to be a transformation. If she knew a spell to turn herself invisible, for example, she could have -"

Nesbitt interrupted with a bray of laughter. "Invisible! Really, you're too much. Why can't you just admit it - she's outdone you!"

"This whole investigation is a sham!" said Malfoy furiously, his already frayed temper starting to give way. "I don't think you want to know how she did it at all - you're just using it as yet another excuse to harass me."

"We do want to know how she did it," said Nesbitt.

"For your restraint charm, to harass me even more," said Malfoy bitterly.

"And for other reasons," Nesbitt assured him. "Very good other reasons."

"What, so you can get dirt on Weasley you can use against her father-in-law?" Malfoy retorted.

"Can you blame us?" countered Nesbitt easily. "She did leave the opportunity wide open."

"Look, Arthur Weasley could go up in flames for all I care, but I had nothing to do with whatever-she-did," snarled Malfoy. "And you should talk about leaving things wide open - your data is full of holes a dragon could fly through." He shook the binder. "There's not a single insect on this list - that probably means the recordings have been relevance-filtered and God knows what other possible clues have been lost. And your documentation is unforgivably shoddy. I personally saw a mouse that isn't listed here. I saw it once after we Apparated onto the platform, and then again as it ran into St. Mungo's ahead of me. Dozens of recordings must have picked it up. It'd take a single day in a court of law to prove your investigation is incompetent at best, and biased at worst!"

"I'll take that now," said Benkmann, stepping in from one side to remove the binder from Malfoy's hand.

Nesbitt only grinned. "This was just gravy anyway," he gloated. "We don't really need proof. All we need do is display the evidence of the things you _have_ done Apparition-wise over the years, and any reasonable person will have no doubt Weasley learned that stunt from you. You don't have a chance. We'll get our restraint charm, all right."

Malfoy's face pinked in fury. For a moment he couldn't seem to speak at all. Then he hissed, "Auror Affairs will -"

"Be realistic, Malfoy. Since when has Auror Affairs paid any attention to the complaints of criminals like you? It's there to protect the rights of citizens, not Death Eaters. Speaking of which, is your Dark Mark hurting you?"

Hermione realized only then that over the last several minutes Malfoy's posture had become increasingly defensive, drawn in, as if he were cringing from something that could not be gotten away from.

"Go hex yourself," retorted Malfoy.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Nesbitt dryly. "Standish, make a note. 2:45AM, detainee showing signs of stress, and pain in the left forearm."

"Like hell," said Malfoy.

Nesbitt smiled sardonically and reached for Malfoy's arm, but Malfoy shrank back into his chair, the limb in question pressed against his middle.

"I thought so," said Nesbitt. "Standish, also make a note that the detainee resisted inspection of the arm in question."

Malfoy shot Nesbitt a glare of loathing. Nesbitt smiled.

"Problem, Malfoy?"

"Nothing that boiling you in oil wouldn't solve," said Malfoy, baring his teeth. Nesbitt only laughed.

* * *

Apparently Nesbitt had only sought out Malfoy for the purpose of gloating about the perfect 'Apparition' shown in the crystal ball, because he soon returned to where the others were working.

Benkmann rushed to meet him. "Excuse me, sir, but Westmacott's lads have done a quick bit of investigating, and they've found something important. Just as Weasley and Malfoy Apparated onto the platform, a mouse just ran out from under Weasley's robe."

"So?" snorted Nesbitt. "Have you seen how she keeps house? I wouldn't be surprised if a chicken and a handful of empty beer cans fell out of there next."

"Well, just as Malfoy said, it was missed during the inventory," Benkmann noted. "It's not on the master list, sir."

There was a pause.

"Son of a bitch," swore Nesbitt.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" said Benkmann.

"Where's Westmacott? Get his arse over here immediately."

Roger Westmacott was a balding, harassed-looking wizard Hermione knew from her days as a Ministry Library researcher. He'd worked his way up from file-clerk to forensics specialist in various departments of the Ministry, before a mid-life crisis led to him undergoing belated Auror training and being tapped by Nesbitt for his lead investigator some four years ago. Right at the moment, Westmacott looked as if he thought he could have saved himself a lot of trouble by staying a file-clerk.

"You wanted to see me sir?" he asked with trepidation.

"What's this I hear about your records being incomplete?" demanded Nesbitt. "A mouse in plain view that wasn't noted down?"

"Oh you see, Mr. Nesbitt sir," said Westmacott, nearly bowing in his attempt to appear cooperative. "This sort of investigation normally takes many weeks. To do it so quickly, well, of course much of the detail must be omitted. But over time -"

"We haven't got time," Nesbitt snarled. We're to take his Apparition license in a court of law in less than thirty-six hours. We'll need every scrap of evidence we can get."

_So much for the notion that they didn't really need any proof, _thought Hermione.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but -" began Westmacott.

"Let's see this mouse."

"Pardon me--?"

"The mouse of his," said Nesbitt. "Let's see it."

"Oh, of course sir. Right this way, sir."

Westmacott led Nesbitt to the table of balls and showed him a largish fist-sized one that appeared to be the payload of a Flying-I. The scene in question was already playing out inside. Hermione landed overhead to have a look, then couldn't believe her eyes. A mouse _had_ run out from under her robes, between her feet, and leaped off the platform.

"You inutterable _idiots!"_ swore Nesbitt.

Benkmann and Westmacott cringed into identical what-did-we-do-now postures.

"That isn't a mouse, that's one of Urban Recon's. She's assigned to Weasley as a tail. Malfoy's playing you for a fool!"

"That mouse is Cov Ops?" said Benkmann, looking greenish.

"Oh dear," said Westmacott.

"The devil take all ickle-Aurors!" Nesbitt barked. "I'd be better off working with apes and nifflers!"

By now the Apparition investigation had halted completely and everybody was standing around in a circle, watching Nesbitt in a sort of horrified fascination. Westmacott was practically leaning backward under the force of Nesbitt's shout.

"How many times have I told you, Malfoy is not to be underestimated? If only the thrice-damned people in Auror Affairs would let me do as I wish, I could take him out permanently and all of this could be over with cleanly! But no, I'm left to pussyfoot around the bastard and be constantly tripped up by the likes of you!" Nesbitt turned to Benkmann. "And you!"

"Sorry, sir," said Benkmann, looking thoroughly crestfallen.

"Don't even let me get started about you. Your days - all four of them - as my partner are over the moment I can get in to submit the paperwork."

"No - Mr. Nesbitt sir -" began the younger Auror.

"Don't you No-Mr.-Nesbitt-sir me. And stay out of my sight!"

A pale-faced Benkmann took a couple of steps back, eyes darting from side to side as he presumably tried to figure out how to salvage his career before it was too late.

As for Hermione, she was perfectly gobsmacked. She _knew_ the Cov Ops agent in question. She'd known her for years, in fact, from Arthur's parties and get-togethers. She'd even known that Eliza Crom's main disguise for her work in Urban Recon was a gray-and-black tabby cat, and that her secondary was a mouse.

That cat that had followed Hermione home from St. Mungo's had been no accident. It had been Eliza Crom, or in Cov Ops parlance, Crouching Tigress. How else to explain the cat running through the Floo with her? How else to explain the sound of a Disapparition in an empty house, and the cat being missing afterward? Crom must have changed from a mouse to a cat halfway to the lobby, then staked out the only empty chairs in the place hoping that Hermione would still be with Malfoy when he arrived. Then for whatever reason - either on a hunch or simply not knowing Hermione had supposedly Apparated away - Crom had spotted Hermione going into the floo later and darted to follow.

How long had Hermione personally been under surveillance? Since meeting with Malfoy the first time? Longer? Somehow she'd thought she was not important enough for the Aurors to waste time on, but after what had happened to the Burrow how could she have ever doubted it? Of course they'd be spying on her. She was well and truly into the thick of this mess.

It was impossible to bump one's forehead against a wall as a fly without poking oneself in the eye, but Hermione managed a close approximation by pressing her stomach despairingly against the slick surface of the Pillow-wisp.

* * *

After he was done castigating his employees, Nesbitt turned and strode purposefully back to where he had left his detainee. Malfoy was sitting huddled, hugging himself against the cold and, presumably, the call of his Dark Mark. He looked up as Nesbitt approached, a half-smirk on his face. However, anything he might have been about to say regarding the exchange with Westmacott and Benkmann was apparently forgotten as without a word, the Auror bent down and grabbed him firmly by the arm. Malfoy tried to scramble back away, but too late; Nesbitt hauled him to his feet and he had no choice but to follow.

"What are you -" began Malfoy, but his voice cut off as Nesbitt gave him a nasty punch in the ribs. The Auror then forcibly led Malfoy out from under the Pillow-Wisp to where the rain was still pouring down. Nesbitt was wearing an impervious charm, but Malfoy was quickly soaked to the bone. Hermione circled once in their wake, loathe to fly where it was raining hard enough to knock her out of the sky and wash her away, then finally landed on the underside of the Pillow-Wisp again, as close to the edge as she could.

The wall of the courtyard was nearer here, and there was a large downspout from which a torrent of water from the roof was cascading into a stone-lined trough and away. The sound of the water would easily prevent the others from hearing their words.

"I tried to make this easy for you," said Nesbitt. "Merlin knows I didn't want to, but with Arthur Weasley meddling in everything one has to make concessions. What Weasley doesn't understand is that people like you just don't respond to good treatment. All you understand is avoiding punishment. It's why you're You-Know-Who's golden boy, isn't it? All it takes is a bit of a threat, a bit of personal discomfort, and you'll do anything. Just like your _father." _

He shoved Malfoy down hard as he emphasized the final word, forcing the smaller wizard to his hands and knees in the fast-flowing water of the drainage trough. Then he crouched down and grabbed Malfoy by the back of the neck, preventing him from rising. Through pale hair made translucent by water, Hermione could see black tattooing all over the back of Malfoy's neck. The marking was winged, and had tiny orange lights for eyes. _Another surrogate, _she thought, sickened.

"That was a cute trick sending us chasing after Cov Ops like that," said Nesbitt, keeping his voice down for Malfoy's ears only. "Very impressive. You spend so much time covering up by playing stupid these days one rarely gets a chance to see you display your intelligence anymore."

Completely drenched, and with his smallish stature and all-fours posture, Malfoy resembled the half-drowned rat of cliché fame. "Let me up," he grimaced.

"All you've done so far is feed me bullshit," said Nesbitt. "If there were a hundred ways Weasley could have done that besides Apparating, you'd have named them all. I reckon there's only one way we'll find out if _you_ can do what she did or not, though, isn't there?"

"What -" began Malfoy, but again he was cut off as Nesbitt shoved him roughly downward, let go of him, then rose to his feet and pulled a wand out of his pocket. He backed up a few steps and tossed the wand so it clattered to the flagstones near Malfoy.

"Go on, take it."

Malfoy stared at him in lack of comprehension, then reached for the wand, pale fingers scrabbling in the puddled water. When he had it in hand, Nesbitt drew his own wand and aimed it at Malfoy.

"Now Apparate!" he ordered him.

"What!" exclaimed Malfoy. "You're mad!" He tried to scramble to his feet, clumsy with cold and hampered by his sodden robes.

"If you need incentive, I'll be more than happy to supply it," said Nesbitt, aiming a jet of red sparks from his wand toward Malfoy's chest.

Malfoy's eyes widened and he lunged to barely avoid the sparks, then tucked shoulder to turn his dive into an awkward roll, coming up in an almost-crouch. It would have been a lot more impressive if he hadn't followed through by tipping over and sprawling on the ground again. It was obvious that between the cold and wet and the last of the Paralyzing Draught, he was in no condition to be dueling.

"Well, get up then," said Nesbitt impatiently. "I want to see you try to Apparate. I already know you can dodge. And a lot better than that, usually." He aimed another spurt of sparks and this time Malfoy wasn't able to jerk backward quickly enough, catching them in the face and upper body.

"Ow!" he bellowed, instantly furious. "Damn you, Nesbitt!" He hurled himself to his feet, the wand gripped white-knuckle in a position not usually used for Apparition. "Try that again, you fuck."

"I wouldn't point that at me if I were you," Nesbitt warned him. Hermione realized that half the Aurors and other personnel in the courtyard had come nearer in response to the hexes thrown, and many of them had wands out at the ready.

Malfoy's eyes flitted over them, his breath coming out in bursts of steam. He was obviously outnumbered. After a moment, his shoulders slumped in resignation and he raised the wand tip-up.

"Much better," said Nesbitt. "Now go over there and stand on the X and try to Apparate for us."

Malfoy's lips tightened, and he moved stiffly past Nesbitt and out of the rain into the area under the Pillow-wisp's light. The other Aurors fell back to give him access to the glowing X that marked Hermione's 'Apparition' point. She noticed that most of them kept their wands out and trained on Malfoy at the ready.

When he reached the X, he turned to face Nesbitt, water dribbling from every part of him.

"You're wasting your time," he said.

"I don't think so," said Nesbitt. "Go on, do it."

Malfoy scowled and lifted the wand. He made the motion for Apparition but nothing happened except that he jerked as if struck. He took a step back to catch his balance, then after a moment he lowered the wand to his side and looked at Nesbitt with a hate-filled glare.

"Mm," said Nesbitt, appearing unconvinced. "Too controlled."

"Too controlled?" said Malfoy carefully, giving the impression that he was, in fact, barely in control just at the moment.

"You could have been faking the rejection," said Nesbitt. "I want to see you lose your head completely, so you're not thinking straight, so we know you really tried to Apparate."

Malfoy's lip curled in an awful sneer. "Forget it!" he snapped.

"I'd rather not," said Nesbitt. He raised his wand and fired a bolt of pseudo-lightning at Malfoy's chest. Malfoy barely had time to flinch before it struck him full on and knocked him over. He landed with a grunt and an oath, the wand bouncing out of his hand and clattering across the stones.

"Ha," said Nesbitt.

Malfoy snarled and shoved himself up, chasing after the wand but slowed down by his sopping wet clothing.

"You've got to do better than that, Malfoy," said Nesbitt, laughing. "I expect this investigation to provide results."

"I expect you're a bloody lunatic," Malfoy panted harshly. He snatched up the wand and turned defensively to face Nesbitt, shoving wet hair out of his face.

"On the X," said Nesbitt.

"Eat shit," said Malfoy. The end of his wand was trembling, either from cold or adrenaline.

"I'll keep you here all morning and the rest of the day if I have to," said Nesbitt. "It's up to you." He aimed his wand again.

"You can't get away with this," said Malfoy, even as he backed toward the X again.

"I don't see why not," said Nesbitt. "Go on, try again."

Malfoy huffed and raised his wand. Again he tried to Apparate. The wards repelled him, and he staggered.

"You're still not trying hard enough," said Nesbitt. He aimed at Malfoy and let fly with another bolt of electricity. Malfoy twisted aside, only barely avoiding getting hit.

"It's not how hard I'm trying," said Malfoy furiously, breath coming hard. "The wards are perfect. There's nothing wrong with them."

"We'll see about that," said Nesbitt calmly. He fired again, striking Malfoy in the shoulder hard enough to spin him back a half-step and wrench a cry of frustration from him.

"Damn it Nesbitt!"

"Less talking, more Apparating," said Nesbitt. "The sooner you do it, the sooner this'll all be over."

"I can't, you mad bastard!" Malfoy yelled back, his voice breaking with stress. "Nobody can!"

"He's not faking, sir," said Benkmann, who'd come up behind his soon-to-be-ex-partner.

"You're not to be watching this," said Nesbitt. He fired off another shot, causing Malfoy to curl and take it on the shoulder deliberately, breath hissing through his teeth.

"Look," said Benkmann. "We're going to be in hot water with Mr. Weasley - and Mr. Duncan too. You can't be cursing people while you're supposed to be questioning them. He's not even a suspect." Evidently Benkmann had decided he had no hope of keeping his job, because this certainly wasn't the way to go about doing that!

"What they fail to teach you people in school these days," said Nesbitt, "is that most things in life aren't black and white. Rules and laws are for snakes like Malfoy there to bend to his advantage, and he counts on people like us to stand back and allow ourselves to be constrained. Now, this might be your last chance to learn something before you find yourself employed demonstrating emergency preparedness procedures to six-through-ten year olds for the rest of your miserable existence, so if you refuse to ignore it like I asked you to, then I suggest you shut your mouth, stand back, and pay attention." He aimed carefully.

"But -"

_Zap! _Nesbitt fired again, managing to connect squarely with Malfoy's wand hand. The wand was blasted free with a snap of electricity and a cry from Malfoy. The other Aurors murmured in appreciation of the excellent shot as the wand bounced to the flagstones.

Apparently Malfoy himself was nowhere near as appreciative. His pale eyes carried the most awful look of hatred, and a touch of insanity as well, hinting at the strain so many years of Auror harassment must have put him under. "Having fun with your target practice?" he hissed malevolently, hugging his left hand tightly against himself with his other hand. "Why don't you face me in a real duel for once?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Malfoy," said Nesbitt. "And do pick up your wand." His own wand flicked impatiently as Malfoy moved slowly toward the wand on the ground, then emitted red sparks that forced Malfoy to jump forward hastily to avoid getting hit. Then, with a particularly nasty look on his face, Nesbitt fired another pseudo-bolt just as Malfoy reached for the fallen wand. _Zap!_ Again it connected with his wand hand and Malfoy spun away hunched over, leaving the wand where it lay.

"You filthy dog," gasped Malfoy. "You inutterable bastard!"

"You were too slow," said Nesbitt with a shrug.

There was a pause as Malfoy presumably attempted to recover enough to face Nesbitt again. "So this is how it's going to be," he said.

"It is," said Nesbitt.

"I see," said Malfoy. "Right, then."

And that's when it happened.

* * *

_It _happened in a blur of flashing curses, shouts and screams. Only afterward was Hermione able to figure out exactly what had occurred:

Malfoy had straightened up, turned, and somehow there was another wand in his hand. He fired an Impedimentia at Nesbitt at point-blank range, felling the Auror cleanly, then hurled himself toward the curtain of water surrounding the Pillow-wisp. In the pouring rain, he'd be harder to see and hit, helping to make up for his lack of proper mobility. And if he could make it to the Apparition platform, he'd be home free. But the Aurors had been galvanized into action, the more experienced ones shoving the younger aside and plunging into the rain themselves, firing hexes to cut Malfoy off. Nesbitt was up again almost immediately, and chased after them only a few steps behind the others. For a moment she thought he was actually getting away, but then they managed to flush him back into the clear area under the Pillow-wisp where he was forced to turn at bay. A furious firefight ensued.

He was able to match their curses with deflections or countercurses for several fairly impressive seconds, and then one of them connected with a Stupefy. He tipped over and landed with a sodden smack, lying still. His hand opened to release the wand. The fight was over as suddenly as it'd started.

The ickle-Aurors who'd been watching broke into polite applause, drawing in closer to have a look at the fallen wizard. Nesbitt snorted.

"Stand back, you ninnies. One Stupefy hasn't made sure of this fellow in years."

He strode forward himself and aimed a Calming Charm at Malfoy from directly above. Malfoy flinched when it struck him, suggesting that he indeed hadn't been fully unconscious.

Nesbitt's mouth twisted. "You," he said to a Special Ops uniformed Healer standing by. "Give him something to kill that Dark Mark. They've been trying to summon him since at least 2:30 and it's making him crazy. We're never going to get anywhere in the questioning with him fixated on that the whole time."

There was no mention of the cold, the rain, or the curses Nesbitt had connected with. Hermione suspected none of that would make it onto the record either. She didn't recognize the Healer, but evidently the witch was well trained in Nesbitt's ways. Without expression or comment the Healer simply picked up her satchel and moved to kneel beside the patient.

* * *

Twenty minutes later Malfoy was conscious and once again seated in the wooden chair. He was very subdued, and he seemed bone-weary and none too happy. But his color was much better and there was a warming-charmed blanket wrapped around him. Droplets of water skittered off the blanket courtesy of a water repellant charm as well. He had a self-refilling cup of tea in one hand and an Ever-Smiling Biscuit with yellow frosting in the other.

Apparently Nesbitt had been well satisfied as to Malfoy's inability to Apparate from within the wards, because there was no more effort to prove that. Instead Nesbitt had found another chair somewhere, and he drew it up so he and Malfoy were facing each other knee to knee.

"You think you're so clever," he said quietly. "But everybody knows about that spring-loaded chest holster these days. That trick wouldn't have worked under any other circumstances."

_The chest sheath, _Hermione thought. _That's where Nesbitt thinks that wand came from. _She'd noticed before how when Malfoy held his left hand in a protective position it also put that hand in a position to draw. And the quick-release on the holster would have made the wand appear almost magically in his hand. But, Hermione wondered, how could a wand have gotten in there in the first place? Either St. James had lent it to him during one of the times Hermione had gone off for sleep, or... was it possible Malfoy had had it on him the entire time?

"Not that it _was _any other circumstances, I realize," Nesbitt continued. "That was a clever bit of strategy on your part. I'll admit that. It was my mistake to trust Social Services to have searched you properly."

That would certainly explain why Malfoy had been so cocky in Ernie's Café! There probably hadn't been a single person there with actual combat experience, much less who could best him in a wand duel. Emelda's powerful stave would have been difficult to defend against, but with his Apparition prowess and those Death Eater combat drugs coursing through his veins, Malfoy could have avoided being hit and then struck at her from behind like he'd done with Bangor. It wouldn't hurt that Emelda probably hadn't used the stave in action in fifteen years, if ever. If he'd been armed the whole time, he'd never been in danger at all. But... no. Malfoy was more than capable of acting cocky with absolutely nothing to back it up. And Hermione would bet the Burrow that if he'd been armed when he first saw his son's condition, he'd have used that wand to hurt someone badly. He must have come into possession of it after that.

Malfoy inspected the frosted side of his biscuit, then bit delicately into the edge of it, seemingly attempting to avoid marring the smiling face on it. He gave no sign of having heard Nesbitt's words, but Hermione knew he had to be listening.

"They've all been fooled," Nesbitt continued. "But I know exactly what you are. And I know exactly what you're capable of. You can trick my people, and you can trick other people, but you haven't managed to trick me in years. The only thing I don't know is exactly what you're up to - and that I'm going to find out. And speaking of that sort of thing, what did you miss tonight? Another raid?" Nesbitt's eyes bored intently into Malfoy, studying his every bedraggled line. "Why were you being called?"

Malfoy didn't meet Nesbitt's eyes, studiously examining his biscuit instead. "I don't have to answer questions about anything but Weasley, Nesbitt. That is what your warrant's for, isn't it?

"He has got a point, sir," said Benkmann, standing nearby.

"For the love of somebody get him out of here," said Nesbitt, jerking his chin toward Benkmann. There was a scuffle of feet as Benkmann retreated, trying to avoid getting grabbed by a couple of the other Aurors.

Malfoy's mouth twitched into the ghost of a smirk. "I do hope your sacking him isn't my fault, Nesbitt," he said. "That would make five in a row, wouldn't it? You simply must learn how to hold onto your partners if you're going to be investigating me further."

"Don't flatter yourself that you had anything to do with that," Nesbitt growled. "I have high standards. He was completely unacceptable in any case."

"Pity Johnson was - what did he call it? Explatterated? - all those years ago. Just think of the trouble you could have saved if he hadn't been," said Malfoy.

Nesbitt's scowl grew blacker. "I'll find another like him someday," he said. "Until then, it's none of your bloody concern, Malfoy. Now let's hear what you have to say about Weasley, before I decide to take Johnson's retirement out on your hide once and for all, and Azkaban bedamned. Don't think I haven't considered it."

The hint of humor vanished from Malfoy's face, to be replaced by wariness. "Fine, then. What about Weasley?"

"Well, what everybody would like to know is, what's your excuse for picking her? She's the daughter-in-law of your enemy. She was your own enemy in school, and her kids are the enemies of your kids. You had to have had some reason. What was it?"

Malfoy took another bite out of his ever-smiling biscuit, again avoiding biting into the face. As the silence lengthened, the biscuit beamed happily at Nesbitt, who glared at it as if he could somehow make it burst into flame.

"I wasn't asked to _pick_ her," Malfoy said at last. His tone was slightly disapproving, even disdainful. "Trelawney said it was her or nothing. She very nearly had to threaten me to accept her. In fact, she did threaten me. It was most unpleasant."

"But you could have chosen to go with a different consultancy," suggested Nesbitt. "To avoid getting Weasley."

"No," said Malfoy. "I already had a contract with Trelawney by the time I found out for certain who the consultant would be, and it wouldn't have been good business practice to back out."

"But you knew she worked for Sibyll & Co. well before that."

"It was in the literature Trelawney provided me. I knew there was some risk Trelawney would attempt to assign Weasley to me, but I had assumed Weasley herself would have the sense to refuse."

"And why did you choose Sibyll & Co. in the first place?"

Malfoy didn't answer right away, instead looking over his biscuit as if attempting to find some other spot to nibble on without ruining its smile. Finding nothing, he settled for having a sip of his tea instead. Hermione rather suspected he'd noticed how much the smile annoyed Nesbitt and was trying to prolong the effect as long as possible.

"I looked into the others," he said at length. "But I decided I couldn't trust any of them with a business as large as Batwing."

"There aren't any other Wizarding companies on that scale," pointed out Nesbitt. "Businesses that large are really more of a Muggle phenomenon, aren't they? I can't imagine that Sibyll & Co. had any more experience than the rest."

"They don't," said Malfoy. "But Trelawney is a friend of the family. The level of trust was the important factor."

Just from what she'd witnessed the other day, Hermione suspected Malfoy's level of inebriation at the time was more of a factor than any trust in Trelawney, but that was neither here nor there.

"Ah yes, a friend of your mother's isn't she?" There was a pause. "Speaking of which," Nesbitt continued, "just where has your mother been lately? All the reports say she's missing."

A strained look flickered across Malfoy's face, and he shrugged slightly, failing to answer otherwise.

"Hmm," said Nesbitt, after a pause. "Well then. Getting back to the subject at hand. Are you going to help Weasley rebuild the wards at the Burrow?"

Malfoy blinked. "Come again?"

"Or at her parents' home, perhaps?"

Malfoy's expression shifted quickly to bewilderment. "Certainly not," he said, sounding more than a little offended.

"Why not? She's on your side, isn't she?"

"Hardly. She's Arthur Weasley's daughter-in-law - an innocent bystander at best, his spy more likely. And a Mudblood besides."

"And yet you've employed her."

Malfoy shrugged, his narrow shoulders shifting under the blanket. "She's not my employee, she's Sibyll Trelawney's. And as I said, I was hardly given a choice. But even if she is a spy, she'll learn nothing by watching me at Batwing. Nothing that'll help you at any rate, unless they've put you on some new investigation having to do with safety regulations and Powdered Pixie Dust production."

"Are you using her to help with Batwing, or are you only using her as a tool for acting out your true plan?" asked Nesbitt slyly.

"My true plan? And what would that be?" Malfoy looked suspicious.

"Well, you obviously had some true purpose in purchasing that company. Something evil something desperately vile and calculating. You are your father's son, after all."

"You really have been investigating the Pixie Dust, haven't you?" said Malfoy. "Has it never occurred to you that I might just have needed some income-producing investments?"

"Batwing hasn't made money in twenty years," said Nesbitt.

"It will soon. That's what the consultant is for."

Nesbitt's eyes narrowed.

"No I know you're not that stupid. I know you're not that naïve. You're hiding something behind that supposed determination to run that company and I'm going to find out what it is."

"Please," said Malfoy scornfully. "You'll never find anything. There isn't anything. What on earth would it be?"

"You're lying," said Nesbitt, his expression never wavering. "I can see right through you, even when you have everyone else fooled. You're just like your father - you lie, and you lie again, and you keep on lying, and you get away with murder and you keep on getting away with murder. But one of these days, the wrong person is going to catch you in the wrong lie and that'll be the end of you. I only pray I catch you before You-Know-Who catches you first."

The ever-smiling biscuit smiled wider and wider in response.

Finally, Nesbitt added in exactly the same tone of voice: "And if you don't eat that damned thing immediately, so help me, I'll have a pair of Aurors beat the hell out of you."

Malfoy scowled, then jammed the rest of the biscuit in his mouth and washed it down with a huge draught of tea.

"And just what do you suppose I'm doing?" Malfoy asked, when he was finished. "This desperately evil plan of mine. I confess I've become quite curious as to that." He allowed one of the aides to take the teacup away from him, then leaned back in his chair, the blanket wrapped more firmly around him. He looked wary and uncomfortable.

"It has something to do with Weasley, I think," said Nesbitt. "Something to do with Weasley, and with Auror Affairs. You somehow arranged to get Weasley as your consultant on purpose, and now you're going to use her to get to her father-in-law. With Arthur Weasley under Imperius, you could strike at the Aurors from behind and with perfect impunity - by means of the law."

Somewhere along the line, Malfoy's expression had changed from wary to slightly incredulous. "Good lord," he drawled. "And you said I was grasping at straws? Besides, I'm hardly the only one who'd like to see the last of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stamped out. Perhaps Arthur Weasley himself saw your obsession with me as an opportunity and sent his daughter to act as Nesbitt-bait, play the victim of Auror harassment, become a sympathetic media figure, and lead an overwhelming public initiative to crush what's left of your war-era power grab."

"Ha," said Nesbitt. "Not likely. She's a washed-up former radical with five bratty kids, a dead-end job and a cheating husband."

"And yet you think she defeated the wards," said Malfoy.

For once, Nesbitt had nothing to say in response. He frowned.

"She did free the House-elves, after all. And she was involved in that whole Order of the Phoenix scandal back in 2007, wasn't she?" said Malfoy. "Come to think of it, wasn't Arthur Weasley supposed to be an actual member of the Order?"

"That was never proven," Nesbitt pointed out. "At any rate, if she has been associating with the Order again, you have more cause for alarm than I do. Unless you're associating with it as well."

"Not likely," sneered Malfoy, his hand straying defensively toward his Memoralias charm under the blanket.

"I thought not," said Nesbitt.

They both seemed to think it was best to leave that subject alone, as there was a longish silence after that.

"You can't keep me here much longer," said Malfoy after a while. "Your office and Auror affairs will be hearing from my lawyers as it is. And I'm to take my daughter to Hogsmeade this afternoon. I'd like to get some sleep first if at all possible."

"You'll get nothing on me for that Apparition business," said Nesbitt. "And you know it. Even Arthur Weasley is scared silly of what you can do already. They'll all be glad it's been proven you can't do _that_ as well. Even if they disapprove of my methods."

Hermione suspected Nesbitt was correct in that. After all, Nesbitt had been playing the system for decades, and most Aurors wouldn't dare speak against him. Benkmann's protests, if any, would be seen merely as the feeble revenge of yet another failed would-be-partner.

"We'll see," said Malfoy grimly. Hermione knew he'd go ahead with sending his lawyers after Nesbitt anyway. He'd been doing things like that for decades too. Hermione shivered at the thought. Nesbitt and Malfoy were evenly matched, having held one another at a standoff for over ten years now. This was all a great dance, formalized feints suggesting the outlines of what might someday be open warfare once again.

"I'll be wanting my wand back, of course," continued Malfoy after a pause. "You can't get away with seizing that one."

Nesbitt looked sour, but he drew the wand in question from a pocket. It was long, slender and black, and bore a shiny new Wanmaker logo painted in near the base of the shaft. "Been shopping, I see. When was this?"

"None of your business, Nesbitt," said Malfoy, putting out one thin hand for the wand. "Give it here, then."

"So you can curse me again? I don't think so," said Nesbitt. "I'll toss it in after you after you floo home."

"You should talk about cursing people. And you'll toss it in before me, so I know you've done it. I don't fancy trying to buy another so soon."

Hermione didn't care what happened to Malfoy's new wand, but she did care where he himself went. No matter what happened in between, he'd be in Hogsmeade by afternoon, and that meant he'd be near Hogwarts and if anything was going to happen to Georgia and Freida because of him, that's when it was most likely to happen.

She did have a good deal to think about as a result of what she'd seen just now, too. On the one hand, it didn't seem she had as much to worry about as she'd thought, regarding her Animagus form being discovered. At least not immediately. There seemed to be no evidence to speak of, and in fact, now that she'd seen how he was handling it, she realized she was lucky Nesbitt had seized charge of the investigation instead of letting it fall into the hands of someone who'd deal with it formally and methodically.

But along with the good news, there was also the bad. She had Covert Operations watching her, and that meant she'd better be damned careful about where and how she transformed. And what she said, and who she said it to. Nesbitt's suspicions about her involvement in Malfoy's supposed plan were hardly reassuring. It didn't matter if she was really involved or not or even if there was really a secret plan or not. Nesbitt appeared, as Malfoy would put it, to have latched onto her like one of those Muggle dogs that never lets go once it has bitten.

For the first time, Hermione wondered if perhaps she'd better go to Arthur, tell him everything she had learned so far, and ask what she could do to help. As Malfoy had also said, sometimes matters reached a point where the only important things were family and survival. Hermione might not know who was on which side or what Malfoy's or Nesbitt's or even Arthur's plans were at this point, but one thing she did know was who her family were.

That is what was on her mind instead of what would happen to Malfoy's wand.

* * *

Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please review!


	41. Owl the News That's Fit to Print

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 41: Owl the News That's Fit to Print

* * *

This Month in Disasters  
Volume CXIV, December 2020

34 Injured in Magical Catastrophe

On Sunday, November 22, 2020, the Department of Auror Affairs issued a press release describing a magical accident which occurred at the Department of Apparition Enforcement's main offices on the morning of Saturday, November 21.

According to Director of Auror Affairs Arthur Weasley, the explosion occurred when an inattentive clerk accidentally put DeGaussier's Miraculous Ink Eraser in her coffee.

The thirty-four injured were among some 75 persons crowding the offices at the time, including Apparition Enforcement employees as well as Aurors from six other departments and members of the Urban Tactical Division of the Wizarding Army. Injuries ranged from burns and lacerations to bizarre transformations, including several Aurors who were brought down by rare allergic reactions strongly resembling the effects of standard Auror combat hexes. Thousands of galleons of damage was also done to the premises.

When asked why there were so many Aurors there at the time of the accident, Weasley maintained a creditable deadpan as he explained, "They weren't. They were transported there spontaneously as part of the magical catastrophe. Very unusual. Unusual, and unfortunate." No one else involved in the accident was permitted to comment pending an investigation.

A spokesperson for DeGaussier's Paper Products remarked, "All I can say is, that must have been one hell of a cup of coffee."

* * *

Wizard Sporting News  
Eye on the Sky Update  
Morning Edition, November 22, 2020

139 Injured In Quidditch Riot

King's Pitch, Port-de-Soller, Majorca.139 were injured yesterday afternoon when outraged quidditch fans spilled out of the stands at the conclusion of a goodwill match between England's Chudley Cannons and Majorca's own Ibizatown Princes. The violence broke out after Cannons ace Beater Ron Weasley, credited with bringing the Orange and White to their first Cup Playoff in nearly 100 years, was hit with a Howler so severe it drove him completely off the Pitch allowing the Princes Seeker Juan Colibrí to catch the Snitch unmolested and win the game. "That owl was on fire," said one battered Princes fan, as he was seen to by a Healer. "I've never seen a Howler that bad. I hope that Beater fellow is all right." Weasley was last seen attempting to outrun the Howler on his Shazam Levinbolt.

* * *

Excerpt from  
The Tattler  
_Sightings,_ Saturday, November 21, 2020

And my heavens, did you hear about the riot at Puerto Sol this afternoon? Apparently **Chudley Cannons Beater Ron Weasley **thought it'd be a good idea to let a Howler from his wife wait until after the match. And we all know what happens when you let those sit unopened. Now. What could she have been sending a Howler about? Perhaps his hot and sordid affair with Harpies Reservist and Sugar Quill heiress **Sheila Lasherton?** A regular item, they were spotted together again tonight at a party at the Corvax Country Club outside of Wembley. And speaking of that unhappy marriage, much ado has been made of **Hermione Weasley's** Apparition from St. Mungo's this morning. But stop the presses about thirty seconds before that, she'd Apparated to St. Mungo's - hand in hand with none other than wealthy playboy **Draco Malfoy.** Cast your eyes on this juicy wizard-photo. Now I think that's a lot more interesting than a bit of Apparition, don't you? Seems Ronnie Dearest ought to be sending a Howler of his own right about now.

(Accompanied by a wizard-photo of the handholding couple, repeatedly showing Hermione Weasley's eyes widening and Draco Malfoy's grip tightening on her arm.)

* * *

The Daily Prophet  
Midnight Edition  
Sunday, November 22, 2020

St. Mungo's Entrance Closed

The Wizarding entrance and Apparition platform for St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries is temporarily unavailable as investigators look into reports that a witch, Hermione Weasley, was able to Apparate from within St. Mungo's Apparition wards early yesterday. Visitors and patients are advised to use the Muggle entrance to the hospital until mid-morning today.

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WWN Morning Report  
Sunday, November 22, 2020

Bing Tadley, 96, of Hangerton was arrested early yesterday morning after a standoff lasting nearly 16 hours. Tadley barricaded himself in his home while investigators from Misuse of Muggle Artifacts battled a particularly vicious biting mailbox located on his garden gate. Eight people were injured in the struggle. When Tadley was finally captured, he denied any knowledge of the enchantments on the mailbox. "That's not mine," he insisted. The mailbox is likely the source of the so-called Capp Road Curse, which Muggles believe has caused several postal workers assigned to that route since the mid 1950's to quit their jobs suddenly without explanation.

* * *

Wizarding Business Monthly  
Issue #86, November 2020

Company of the Month: Batwing Alchemical & Pharmaceutical

Draco Malfoy is immediately recognizable to anyone who's followed the news or read about Muggle Separation issues. Cartoonists delight in exaggerating his diminutive build and purebred features, his perpetual sneer and arrogant posture. It would be impossible, however, to exaggerate the radicalism of his point of view. His quotes on Wizarding Radio require almost no attribution; his distinctive drawling voice is its own punchline as he delivers outrageous comments intended to create a furor taken either in or out of context. Even those who wouldn't recognize Malfoy himself usually recognize his words.

Some might argue that fame and a venerable history are all that Draco Malfoy and his new acquisition have in common and that it is a union doomed to failure. Others feel that solid old-blood ownership and a focus on tradition and values rather than an increasingly elusive profit margin will do the company good.

An examination of publicly available records shows that Malfoy's people had been acting in his name to buy up Batwing public stock over a period of about a year beginning September 2018. Early news reports contained claims that Malfoy himself was unaware that he had any part ownership in Batwing, and was informed only after Batten's death. However, many who formerly owned Batwing stock are eager to refute this.

Megan Cott of South Hurst, once a 4% owner, maintains she was 'bullied' out of her shares by Malfoy personally.

"He wouldn't leave me alone," she insisted. "He's not a very nice person, you know. I was afraid for my children's safety."

Charles Haversmith of Chanleigh owned less than 1% when he was approached by Malfoy scant hours before Batten's death.

"I wouldn't say he was unkind about it," Haversmith related, "but he was very firm. He offered far more than the shares were worth and suggested it would be ill-advised to refuse. Of course, at the time I had no idea I was the only owner left besides him and old Mr. Batten, or I might have thought twice."

Trusted sources have confirmed that rather early on, Malfoy also bought part of Batten's own stock in a private transaction that was not publicised. At the time of Batten's death, Malfoy owned 49% of Batwing, while Batten owned 51%. This revelation raised more than a few eyebrows, and some have gone so far as to suggest that Batten ran afoul of Malfoy's reputed organized crime connections after refusing to give up majority ownership. But Malfoy pooh-poohs any notion that there may have been foul play involved in Batten's death.

"The disrespect certain members of the business community have shown for Mr. Batten's memory is simply appalling," he said at a recent interview at our London offices. "At one time Batwing was a great company. Perhaps it can be again. I think that's what Mr. Batten would have wanted, don't you?"

But can Batwing recover the glory of its heyday?

"If anyone can make it happen, Malfoy can," opined analyst George Stange. "He's proven in the past he is able to identify available talent and expertise and draw on it effectively, regardless of his own lack of experience in a given field. Don't forget he managed to build a powerful monopoly of Muggle companies in an industry he knew nothing about, by relying entirely on the knowledge and skills of others. He was ruthlessly creative about picking the right people, motivating them, and playing them off one another. If there's anyone with any ambition at Batwing, he'll find them and exploit it."

Motivation, with Malfoy, comes in a variety of forms from cash gifts to unsavory threats and even blackmail. "He is definitely not afraid to come across as the bad guy," said Stange. "Nor does he confine himself to speaking the truth. He's willing to say whatever it takes."

Or, apparently, _do_ whatever it takes. Malfoy's first act as Batwing's full owner was to turn Vice President of Sales Maxwell Bannock into an umbrella stand. Malfoy claimed Bannock had been embezzling from the company for decades. "I won't tolerate being stolen from," Malfoy said candidly.

When asked about his plans for the company, however, Malfoy was less willing to talk. "Please," he said smoothly. "It's bad enough I'm forced to turn to business to support myself. Must the sordid details be dragged out before the entire Wizarding World? Suffice it to say, I do intend to keep the doors open. There are no plans to shut down the company at this time. It's a viable company."

Batwing is, at this point, essentially privately owned. Despite 35% of the shares being publicly listed, Malfoy in fact holds all of them. When asked whether he intended to resell any of the shares on the public market, Malfoy was hesitant to answer. "I hadn't really considered the issue," he claimed.

"He's got to be still smarting over that antitrust ruling," said analyst Gregory Proctor. "I expect he'll leave the option to sell some of those stocks open instead of bringing the company back to being wholly private. We don't have antitrust laws in the Wizarding world, but Batwing does have a 90% market share, and a precedent was set with that Hartsford Strategic Group business. There are those who'd like to see that happen to Malfoy again, even if it means enacting new legislation. If a situation like that started to build, he'd likely try to defuse it by selling the public shares."

Another subject of much interest is how Malfoy plans to handle Batwing's huge Muggle employee base. While Batwing is not the wizarding world's largest employer of Muggles, it does have more Muggle employees working directly on site and in close proximity to wizards than any other wizard-owned company - close to five thousand.

A fervent separationist, Malfoy is the last person many would expect to employ Muggles. However, he says he has no plans to change the makeup of Batwing's workforce anytime soon.

"They're Muggles, which I'm not happy about," he said. "However, they're completely oblivious. They do their work and they go home. If there have to be Muggles, that's about the ideal situation."

According to Malfoy, there was already a strict separation policy in place at Batwing when he took over the company.

Despite the many important questions that remain unanswered regarding Malfoy's acquisition of Batwing, industry analysts (and indeed, anybody who buys or uses potions ingredients here or on the continent) are finding themselves intrigued by the hints of coming changes that are starting to make themselves known.

Through Sibyll & Co. Know-it-All Consultants Malfoy has hired former radical Hermione Weasley to aid in the rebuilding of the company. One need only look to the turn of the century, when her determination and vision led directly to the freeing of the House-Elves, to see that Weasley possesses the sort of outside-of-the-box thinking and impassioned sense of duty that Malfoy seems to prefer on his teams.

When asked about Weasley's impure bloodlines, Malfoy at first refused to comment. When pressed, however, he said, "If one must suffer the existence of [Muggleborns], they should at least make themselves useful." Hardly charitable words, but from the mouth of a Malfoy they are astonishingly tolerant.

In other changes, Malfoy intends to replace Bev Shortwater, for decades a public fixture at Batwing's front desk.

The replacement has yet to be chosen, but with Batwing currently at the center of the Wizarding business world's attention, it is to be certain Malfoy will pick very carefully.

* * *

Orb: The _Thinking_ Witch's Weekly  
Issue #543  
Week of Nov 22, 2020

~o~

Are Two Better Than One?  
By Marita Bliss

~o~

At one time, divorce was almost unheard of. But more and more often, witches and wizards are getting divorced and remarried sometimes more than once. This week we'll explore divorce, remarriage, why it happens, and what you as a thinking witch can do about it.

~o~

"Traditionally, of course, divorce was disallowed even in Muggle societies in England," said Elizabeth Froth of the Waverly Weekend Society Social Dynamics Club. "Now it's quite the usual thing. Wizarding culture was slower to take up the practice, and those parts of society that intermingle with Muggles took it up first. It's still frowned upon amongst the more traditional families and purebloods but even there you're starting to see it happen more often."

"Traditionally those from pureblooded families have not married for love," said Sherburne Plowman, head of the Institute for the Study of the Art of Fortuitous Marriage Arrangements. "It's been to produce pureblooded children, and promote alliances between pureblood family lines. But what you will see more and more often, these days, is a wizard of pure blood who was unable to marry well in his first marriage, perhaps a second or third son of a family of modest means. If he later becomes quite successful in life, he may opt to leave his first wife and marry up into better status. This also gives him an opportunity to beget children of better social standing, or children of purer blood than those of his first marriage. If he has done well enough for himself, he often is able to marry someone younger and more beautiful than his first wife, which only adds to the attraction."

This phenomenon is not limited to wizarding societies. In Muggle society it is not unheard of for a Muggle businessman to 'trade up' upon reaching middle age as a financial success. "It's partly instinctual," explains Mack Vader, author of _True Male: Survival of the Fittest._ "He's growing older compared to his competition and he wants to prove he can still command the best pick of the available mates. We're just animals really, when it comes down to it."

"Codswallop," commented Greta Parker of Kamelbach & Syphon, noted witch's rights attorney. "His wife sacrificed everything to make him successful, and now he's dumping her for a young girl who he can mold to his liking, and who looks good on his arm at social functions. Perhaps someone who is more fun to be around than his poor, hardworking wife, someone he thinks his friends and business associates will envy him for."

More than one person interviewed for this article pointed to Ron Weasley of the Chudley Cannons, recently in the news, as an example. "He's of pure blood but he was the sixth son," said Plowman. "His family was among the lowest in social standing of the old pureblood families at the time. Realistically speaking there was only so well he could expect to marry. Hermione Granger was a Muggle-born witch, yes, but she also had a very promising future. She was very bright and well-connected. He could have done a lot worse. His family's politics were quite liberal at the time, very pro-Muggle, so he had nothing to worry about regarding their approval. And with such a large family and so few inheritable assets of his own, producing an heir would not have been one of his immediate concerns."

Vader, too, brought up the subject of Weasley and Granger. "Let's face it, she was the girl next door," he said. "They were friends at Hogwarts, and it just seemed natural at the time. But now that he's successful, and he's growing older and probably reached the peak of his Quidditch career, he's looking to improve his lot. He's always had to make do with hand-me-downs and what he could get. Now he wants something just for him. Wouldn't you?"

A good question. Witches are not as well known for practicing the same kind of 'trading up', but everyone has heard of young gold-diggers who marry ancient wizards with the intention of becoming fabulously wealthy when their aged husbands die. Even younger wizards can fall victim to hungry brides who don't intend for the marriages to last, if their assets are attractive enough.

Speaking of wealthy younger wizards, another recent media example - coincidentally also connected with Hermione Weasley - is Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy had a traditional marriage arrangement," said Plowman. "He was betrothed to Pansy Parkinson when they were children, and everything went through as planned. They were married for about ten years and produced two pureblooded children before their lives took them in opposite directions."

Opposite directions indeed! Parkinson is now an Auror Special Operations agent, while Malfoy is widely believed to be an inner-circle Death Eater and devoted worshiper of You-Know-Who.

"Because he got the business of producing an heir out of the way early in life, he's now free to do whatever he pleases," continued Plowman. "He's been married several times since then, probably for specific strategic reasons. If you look at what's publicly available of his prenuptial agreements, they tend to insist that he retain custody of any children, while allowing huge monetary rewards to the wife upon divorce. His lawyers are among the best, so it's quite likely those rewards were the point to the marriages in the first place. One doesn't get anything out of a contract written by Blitzkrieg & Ramhomme that one wasn't intended to get."

Vader thinks the marriages were less calculated than that. "Malfoy's showing off," he opined. "He has the money, he has the time. Why shouldn't he experiment a bit, see what he likes, while also making it known how desirable he is, flaunting himself a bit? It's only to his advantage. Think of a peacock showing his plumage to all the available hens."

Predictably, Greta Parker had a less charitable opinion of the whole business. "He's an arse," she stated baldly. "A self-absorbed, imperious arse, a racist, and a bigot. He's got severe financial and legal problems, he belongs to a cult, and let's not forget that he has been accused of being a mass murdering psycho as well. These witches are lured in by the promise of fame, wealth and a glamorous lifestyle, but the reality is much different. He can't keep a wife because nobody can stand what he's like as a person outside of the public view. No amount of money is worth being shackled to someone like that. If it wasn't for those generous prenuptial agreements he'd never get anyone to marry him at all."

Currently single once again, Malfoy must seem ripe for the plucking to gold-digging young witches.

~o~

But I am sure our readers are wondering, what can a thinking witch (or wizard) do to avoid being entrapped by a gold-digger or someone who is only going to 'trade up' later? Indeed, how can someone who is already married prevent it from happening to them with their current spouse?

"First of all," said Froth, "it's important to understand that divorce has actually been very good for the wizarding world. People grow apart. Especially people who met when they were quite young and not yet grown into their adult roles. There used to be a far higher rate of domestic violence and even murders of spouses before divorce became so commonplace. It's an important release valve when a marriage just no longer works. How many marriage-related Magical Disasters have you read about in the last decade, as compared to fifty years ago?"

"It's all in the prenup," Greta Parker asserted. "If you nail him in the prenuptial agreement, there's nothing he can do to you. How many men will cheat on their spouse if they've signed in blood vowing their 'manhood' will grow an enormous wart on it if they dally with another witch? How many will ask for a divorce if the prenuptial agreement calls for them to have arse-boils for forty years and forty nights if they do?"

"What these people do is only natural," said Vader. "But what you want to do in revenge is natural too. Go with your instincts. If you feel you need to challenge someone to a duel in order to salvage your honor - and keep or win back your mate - then by all means, go for it."

"I think what it all comes down to is practicality," said Plowman. "While we might not like it, some kinds of marriages - and divorces - are simply the best way to handle certain situations. You simply must analyze your situation, think about the future, and try to be as careful as possible. Get a good lawyer and make sure your own assets are protected while still allowing you the union you want. That way you're covered either way."

Well. Certainly a lot to think about. Next week's article will be about home-tutoring vs. sending your children to Muggle schools, and what people have to say about that. Until then - don't stop thinking!

* * *

Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please review!


	42. Sticky Indeed

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 42: Sticky Indeed

* * *

At 4:45AM Sunday morning, the peaceful gloom of Malfoy Manor's grand entryway was disturbed by an eruption of green flames from one of the fireplaces on the landing high above.

A shiny black Wanmaker wand soared out of the flames first. It described a ballistic arc, bounced twice on the elegant hand-woven Persian rug, and came to rest in the center of the landing.

Next Draco Malfoy made his appearance, courtesy of a mean-spirited shove by Special Ops' Rudeo Nesbitt. He stumbled and managed to catch himself on all fours, then pounced on the wand and whirled on his knees to face the fireplace as if he expected Nesbitt to come out after him. But the green flames flickered and died, and he was left alone in the near-darkness.

Alone, that is, except for Hermione in her fly form, and a diminutive house-elf who peered at him over the top step of the grand staircase with drooping ears and apprehensive eyes.

* * *

Malfoy put his hands on his knees and bowed his head for a moment.

"Weasley, Weasley," he muttered to himself. "What the hell have you done?" He sounded weary and disbelieving. He massaged his eyes with his non wand-hand, then sighed and climbed rather stiffly to his feet, storing the wand in his forearm-sheath.

The house-elf stood up as well. The little fellow was wearing nothing but a tool-belt of sorts consisting of a number of different scrub-brushes strung together on a piece of rope. "Hewo Mathter," said the little fellow, tongue protruding oddly. The tongue was curiously large - so large it didn't quite fit into his small green mouth.

"Dingle," Malfoy acknowledged distractedly. He barely gave the house-elf a glance as he started down the steps into the ballroom.

Dingle turned to follow, bare feet slapping on the marble and scrub-brushes clattering together. "Mathter vewy late, Dingle hope Mathter all wite. Anything Dingle can do for Mathter?"

"Are you done with the staircase yet?" Malfoy inquired coolly, not bothering to look down as he spoke.

"No," said Dingle, shoulders drooping. He came to a halt and let Malfoy walk away from him. "Dingle not done yet," he said softly. "But Dingleth tongue vewy thore."

It was awful enough to see real evidence that Malfoy still owned some elves. But was he really forcing that poor elf to clean that enormous staircase with his _tongue? _How perfectly horrid! Hermione had to wonder what S.P.E.W. had come to when they allowed someone who actively abused his elves sit on their board as the owners'-representative.

Just as she was entertaining the rather reckless idea of going back and changing to human form to try to convince the elf of the benefits of freedom, two more elves appeared with a _BANG_ and started skipping along on either side of Malfoy.

"Master is back!" enthused the first of them.

"Master all wet," tsked the other. "Not good get wet in cold weather Master, might become ill."

"I'll try to remember that next time," said Malfoy sourly. "Has either of you seen Sticky about?"

"Blatz not see Sticky, but Blatz here to help instead," said the first elf opportunistically. "Anything Master want, Blatz do right away."

"Misty too," exclaimed the second elf, seizing hold of Malfoy's hand in an apparent attempt to draw his attention away from Blatz. "Master need anything right now? Misty very helpful."

"Blatz more helpful than Sticky and Misty both," began the first elf, but Malfoy flicked his hand free and waved them both away.

"Not now. Go find Sticky and tell him I wish to speak to him at once."

They fell back, disappointed. Then Blatz looked at Misty imperiously. "Blatz find Sticky first."

"No, Misty find Sticky first," said the other elf, thrusting her rubbery green lower lip out defiantly.

And with two _BANGs,_ they were gone.

"Pestilential little beggars," muttered Malfoy.

* * *

Hermione knew that the Malfoy family had owned five house-elves at the time of the elves' legal emancipation. With Poopsie having been freed since, that left four. The four must be Dingle, Blatz, Misty, and Sticky. The poor things!

* * *

Malfoy crossed the cold empty floor of the ballroom, heading for some large double-doors set at the far end. Beyond the doors lay a formal dining room, with two massive tables stretching its length and serving counters lining one side. Tall leaded glass windows, currently black with night, surrounded the room on the other three sides. A chandelier crossed the ceiling in a sinuous curve, forming a wingless dragon or flying snake out of thousands of hanging crystals.

Malfoy strode through this room without interruption and entered a more modest door at the rear. This led to a kitchen lined with counters, pantries, gleaming cabinetry and racks of implements. All was dark and quiet; this particular kitchen was probably never used except during ballroom events where hundreds of people had to be fed.

It was here that a fourth elf intercepted him with a resounding _crack!_ that echoed off the high ceilings.

"Hello Master Draco, Itsy has many letters for yous," enthused the little one, who was dressed in a public owl-service mail sack with holes cut for the arms. She had a huge bundle of scrolls and envelopes clutched in her arms.

_Itsy?_ thought Hermione suspiciously. _I thought the fourth one was Sticky?_

"Not now, Itsy," said Malfoy, as he pushed through a door at the very back of the kitchen. It was apparently a servant's door leading into the main Manor, for he emerged into an area of much older construction, thick-walled and low-ceilinged. The corridor's walls were lined with elaborate tapestries separated by gargoyle sconces bearing magically lit torches, and an exquisitely knotted Turkish tribal rug ran down its length.

Undeterred by the brush-off, Itsy bounced after Malfoy.

"Letters from Margie Jackson and James Patterson," she said. "Many letters from Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. _Harry Potter _Master! Should open them now."

Malfoy looked increasingly stressed out. "Wonderful."

"Letters from Blitzkrieg and Rammhome and Faraday Publicists. Big letter from S.P.C.M.A ."

"Put them in my study," said Malfoy. "I'll deal with them later."

"Master not remember? Desk burned up in study," said Itsy. "Put on floor?"

_Pop! PopPopPop! _Four or five more elves appeared, blocking Malfoy's way halfway down the corridor.

"Master's here!" Hermione heard another elf's voice squeal from somewhere in the distance.

_What on earth, _she thought, temporarily distracted from the question of just why Harry Potter would be owling Draco Malfoy. _How many elves are there?_

Two of the newcomers were Blatz and Misty again. They pushed a third elf forward, one who was looking very nervous indeed.

"Blatz found Sticky," said Blatz triumphantly.

_"Misty_ f-" began Misty, before receiving a sharp elbow in the ribs from Blatz. "Umf," she finished up, rubbing her side.

* * *

Sticky was a male elf of about average height. He was wearing what appeared to be a crisp new copy of the Daily Prophet strung on a bit of string to form an effective loincloth.

Malfoy stopped and stared at Sticky with an intensity that rivaled that of his stare at the Aurors at Segal's Roost. Under this scrutiny, Sticky's ears wilted in a pitiful display of submission.

"Sticky," said Malfoy, quietly and ever so dangerously.

"Y-yes Master!" squeaked the unfortunate elf.

"Didn't I charge you personally with destroying my Time Turner, two years ago almost to this very day?"

_Ah,_ thought Hermione.

If Malfoy had a Time Turner, that was another possible explanation for the surprise appearance of the additional wand in St. Mungo's courtyard.

If Nesbitt had done something so awful it was worth avoiding at any cost, Malfoy might have gone back and left the wand for himself in order to get out of whatever-it-was. Resulting, instead, in the version of events Hermione witnessed. Hermione didn't know what could be worse than getting shoved into a torrent of freezing water and shot up with hexes a few times, but it was certain that Nesbitt of all people would be capable of it if there was something.

"Yes, Master did tell Sticky destroy Time Turner," the elf quavered.

"Really," said Malfoy softly. "And did you do it?"

"Er," said Sticky. He grabbed his own ears and pulled them down almost to his shoulders. The other elves watched with interest.

Malfoy pressed the fingers of his free hand to his forehead and appeared to attempt to gather patience.

"That wasn't quite a yes, Sticky," he said.

Hermione couldn't help but notice that a few additional elves had sneaked in and were watching from around the edges. Word apparently travelled quickly at Malfoy Manor.

"M-master," said Sticky, twisting and yanking at his ears in a torturous fashion. "You loved yous Time Turner so very much. Sticky always knew you be wanting it back someday." A mix of sighs came from the watching elves, ranging from groans of dismay to something very like admiration. This seemed to spur Sticky to greater desperation. "But Master, Time Turner is gone!"

After a long moment, Malfoy removed his hand from his eyes and fished in his inner pocket for his flask. He tried to take a swig from it, but only a few drops came out. He sighed.

"Bitsy, refill this please. The rest of you are dismissed. Not you, Sticky."

The smallest of the elves reached up with both hands and accepted the flask, then hurried off surrounded by a flock of the others. Hermione heard the beginnings of a nervous-sounding argument. It sounded like sparrows squabbling.

"Hands off Blatz. Master give Bitsy flask."

"Master drink too much. Not filling flask all the time, Bitsy."

"None of Pokey's business! Flask is Bitsy's job!"

"Pokey right Bitsy!"

"Get lost Wicki! Nobody ask Wicki and Pokey!"

The squeaky voices faded, to be followed by several echoing _BANGs_ after the elves had gotten some distance away.

* * *

House-elves were a very distracting subject for Hermione, but the concept of a Time Turner becoming involved in this Batwing mess was significantly disturbing. She hadn't really thought it through before, but if there was a Time Turner, things could turn more than a bit ugly.

Now that they were alone in the hallway, Sticky stared up at Malfoy with his knees trembling.

"Sticky, Sticky, Sticky," said Malfoy. There was a longish pause. "Whatever am I going to do with you? First that business with Ginger's cage, and now this. It's really the last straw, I think; too many incidents with the same house-elf won't do at all."

"O master!" cried Sticky, flinging himself at Malfoy's feet and hugging him around the knees. "Not free Sticky! Not shame Sticky with clothes! Time Turner is destroyed! Even though Master loved his Time Turner very very much and Sticky almost couldn't bear to do it."

"I didn't love it, I was addicted to the damned thing," said Malfoy sharply. "Why else do you think I wanted it gotten rid of permanently? Now if you didn't destroy it, what did you do with it?"

* * *

Sometimes when a moment of sudden intense clarity struck, it was entirely unwelcome. Hermione was coming to realize she'd made a colossal mistake in suggesting the use of a Time Turner to Malfoy back at Segal's Roost.

Not that she'd literally meant for him to actually _use_ one, mind you. She'd only mentioned it as an example of one way to get some sleep before coming in to Batwing early in the mornings. Her point had been that Malfoy needed to spend more time at Batwing, and that there was always a way to make it happen provided he used the proper amount of imagination.

But now it seemed Malfoy had taken many of her suggestions quite literally, and despite the bad reaction to them he'd shown to her face, he'd lost no time in implementing her ideas more thoroughly and decisively than she'd ever expected. Hadn't he parted ways with his job at the Ministry less than twenty-four hours after their meeting? And if Nesbitt could be believed, Malfoy was in the process of rapidly giving up most of his political obligations as well. Now a Time Turner had entered the picture.

Hermione never thought she'd see the day when she was terrified by the effects her advice had had on a client, but that day had arrived.

_What on earth is he thinking?_ she thought. There was no doubt in her mind that he was doing all of this because she suggested it; everything matched up. But they'd only been suggestions tips advice .

Malfoy could in no way, shape or form handle operating a Time Turner responsibly. For goodness' sake! She had now spent three and a half days watching him do his best to kill himself through overindulgence with everything from whiskey and greasy food to combat drugs and chronic lack of sleep, and she knew from unfortunate personal experience that a Time Turner could be very addicting indeed. Someone as prone to that sort of behavior as Malfoy was wouldn't stand a chance with one. She wouldn't be surprised if he had come to the brink of ruining himself with it before. God knew what act of will it had taken him to give it up and now she'd gotten him started on it all over again!

And this was not going to make life any easier for the Aurors and for Arthur. As frustrated as she was with them right at the moment, they were on the side of the law. If she'd inadvertently helped Arthur by getting Malfoy to leave his Ministry position, she'd more than made up for that with this blunder. In fact, she wouldn't be surprised if she'd managed to undo all of Special Operations' work in wearing Malfoy down, because now no matter how frazzled Malfoy got, the combination of Memoralias Charm and Time Turner would make it theoretically possible for him to undo any number of mistakes.

And thirdly, as if the rest of it wasn't enough, she'd also just unleashed a monster when it came to her own tracking of Malfoy's actions. However was she going to make sure he never got near Freida and Georgia, if there were more than one of him at any given time? It was impossible! Impossible short of following him through every single Turning, which meant sticking very close by and literally landing on his person right before he did it. If Malfoy had any skill with the Time Turner at all, the five or ten minutes it'd take to get his revenge on her daughters could be slipped in so subtly Hermione might miss it unless she was in his pocket twentyfour-seven. Hermione remembered running rings around her friends with the Time Turner in school, and she'd been only thirteen years old at the time.

_I'm going to have to be a lot more careful about what I tell Malfoy to do about Batwing,_ thought Hermione. It was clear that for whatever reason, her words were having a profound effect upon the situation.

* * *

"Well?" Malfoy demanded.

Sticky burst into tears. "Sticky not know, -" he began squeakily.

"Bother," said Malfoy. "Do go fetch the Time Turner and stop making a spectacle of yourself. And when you're finished, join Dingle in cleaning the Grand Staircase. It's taken him forever."

"Dingle has very small tongue, Master," said Sticky faintly. "And staircase very large. But no Time Turner exist anymore."

Malfoy frowned.

"Not exist! Sticky made sure of it," the elf insisted, his little green hands still gripping Malfoy's damp robes. "Is nowhere, Master!"

Malfoy drew the Wanmaker wand and showed it to Sticky. "Then what about this?"

Sticky's ears quirked in confusion. "Er Sticky not know anything about wands."

"Ah," said Malfoy. "Well, let me give you a brief education about wands."

Sticky cringed as if he expected to be 'taught' with a wicked hex rather than words, but Malfoy continued.

"Firstly, wands are very expensive. Some people cannot afford one at all, while others cannot afford new ones. Unless I miss my mark, this particular wand is worth over a hundred thousand galleons."

"Oh," said Sticky, staring at it in awe.

"And wands like this don't lie about in puddles waiting for random strangers to pick them up. They certainly don't happen to _choose_ random strangers. No, they are made very painstakingly in specialized shops, where people must go to spend several unpleasant hours attempting to figure out which one is the wand for them," said Malfoy.

Sticky looked worried.

"Ah yes," said Malfoy. "And since this wand seems to be quite suited to me, I can only imagine I did spend that time. I don't seem to recall having done it yet, so I must have done it about an hour and a half from now, at 6AM, when I have an appointment for a private fitting at Ollivander's."

Sticky's ears drooped. "Master, think you buy that wand in future and bring back to puddle?"

"Indeed," said Malfoy. "And I would go so far as to say that I must also have gone back and fulfilled my duty to the Dark Lord, rather than missing His call as Rudeo Nesbitt supposes. Otherwise I likely wouldn't have lived long enough to complete the selection of a wand. The Dark Lord does not suffer being ignored gladly."

"But," began Sticky.

"Which brings me back to my original question," said Malfoy. "Did you, or did you not, destroy my Time Turner? A simple yes or no will do."

There was a short silence.

"Yes," said Sticky.

Malfoy's face darkened with fury.

"Yes!" said Sticky desperately. "Yes, yes!"

"That does it," said Malfoy. He jammed his wand back into the sheath, then started unbuttoning his robe.

It took Sticky a moment to comprehend what Malfoy was doing, but when he did, his eyes widened with panic.

"No no no! Not clothes!"

"What on earth do I want with a house-elf who lies and disobeys?" said Malfoy. "There are plenty of others who'd be thrilled to take your place."

"But Sticky did arrange for destroy Time Turner!" Sticky waved his hands frantically. "Sticky did!"

"Well I highly doubt that," said Malfoy, "since I didn't hallucinate that I found that wand in that puddle, and I don't see how else it could have so conveniently arrived there."

"Maybe a different Time Turner in Mistress Narcissa's things," gibbered Sticky, clutching pitifully at Malfoy's robes and trying to do up some of the buttons Malfoy had already undone. "Sticky very new, Sticky not knowing. Pringle and Cholly are knowing, Sticky ask them and they look, only take a little time -"

"Honestly, can you see my mother using a Time-Turner?" Malfoy sniffed. "Have some respect. And get _off_ me!" He slapped Sticky's groping hands away from his midriff and undid the buttons once again.

_Wait a minute, _thought Hermione in a rush. Had Sticky described himself as new? Had Malfoy actually acquired some of these elves years after their race had been legally emancipated? That would certainly explain why there were more of them than there were supposed to be. Did S.P.E.W. know about this?

But no - it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but her job and the safety of her family. She had to concentrate on that now.

Malfoy squirmed the rest of the way out of his robe and thrust it in Sticky's direction. "As your owner and master, I present to you-" he began.

_Pop! _The robe disappeared from his hand as if it had never existed.

"What the - " exclaimed Malfoy, astounded.

"Robe vanish," said Sticky breathlessly. "Oops! Not give Sticky, how unfortunate!"

"Why, you impertinent -" began Malfoy with a snarl. He whipped out his wand again.

Sticky squealed, "Sticky go ask Cholly and Pringle!" And before Malfoy could grab him, he'd vanished with a _Bang. _

Hermione didn't know whether to be sorry Sticky hadn't been freed, or triumphant that the elf had managed to get his way despite Malfoy's intentions.

Malfoy looked as confused and outraged as she felt, but probably for completely different reasons. He aimed a cursory warming-charm at himself, wrapped his arms around his thin under-robe, and stomped off in a huff.

* * *

Hermione followed him through several increasingly fancy corridors until they arrived at what appeared to be his bedroom suite. It was lavishly appointed, with an enormous four-poster bed masterfully carved with twining mermaids, a formal dressing area with floating mirrors and jade-and-ivory screens, and several doors leading off to other rooms.

"Nally!" yelled Malfoy. "Matsy!" He strode past the bed to a squat mahogany writing-desk with many drawers and cubbies, and started rummaging through it trying to find something.

"Lazy wretches. Where are you? Matsy!" He scowled petulantly and slammed the drawers open and closed harder than necessary. Finally he found what he was looking for: a handful of brown glass vials with rumpled labels. Hermione could see that "PnM" was handwritten on at least some of them in Malfoy's own hand. _Pain no More,_ she guessed.

"Never mind," he called.

* * *

Like the Philosopher's Stone, medical remedies had been a focus of alchemists' obsessions for centuries. Unlike the Philosopher's Stone, there were countless ways to make potions to ease ailments - as many ways as there were wizards. The same went for painkillers specifically; Pain no More wasn't a particular potion so much as it was a family of them, with a general range of base ingredients, cooked up to the individual wizard's preferences.

Making medical potions at home had been technically illegal for quite some years now, as the Wizarding world grew more regulated and safety became more and more a concern. However, there was little hope of actually stamping out such a widespread practice any time soon. The number of wizards and witches who brewed their own remedies on the sly outnumbered those who didn't by an order of magnitude. The vast majority who broke the law did so because they failed to see what harm there could be in mixing up a bit of Mum's own wart-removal creme or dabbing on a few jots of Grandpa's old mosquito repellant - even if it gave them a wicked blue rash. And for the most part, such activities were harmless.

But anybody who could throw together an impromptu Floo Powder out of found objects knew enough about Potions to get himself into serious trouble. And judging from what Hermione had seen of Malfoy so far, it was a safe bet that he brewed his own Pain no More because he wanted something more hard-hitting than the safer and more reliable prescription painkillers given out by St. Mungo's, and the consequences bedamned.

As Malfoy retrieved one of the vials and uncorked it, Hermione discovered the contents smelled of strong tea, honey, willow-root and calendula - definitely Pain no More. The traditional ingredients were almost powerfully-scented enough to mask the evidence of more esoteric substances: True Love's Tears, powdered Sunspots, and distilled Whale Song. These last were items most people wouldn't even be able to find, much less afford. But Malfoy now had easy access to all of Batwing's catalog. There probably wasn't a potions ingredient in the world he couldn't get his hands on if he wanted it badly enough, and Hermione doubted he allowed price to stand in the way either.

She watched as he downed the contents of the vial and wondered if he had considered trying to crack the mystery of Everlasting Glue himself. Even if it was guaranteed to fail, it'd be less of a waste of those vast resources than what he was doing to himself now.

* * *

A door along the side of the room opened, and an aged wizard emerged looking woozy and half-asleep. His silvery hair was mussed and he was just shrugging the rest of the way into what appeared to be a manservant's uniform.

"Mister Malfoy, my apologies," said the wizard. "We were expecting you at two-thirty."

"So was the Dark Lord, and I'm a bit more concerned about His opinion than yours, Wilson," growled Malfoy.

"Oh yes, quite," said Wilson with a little chuckle that somehow managed to convey delight with Malfoy's wit instead of the supreme annoyance any normal person would have felt in his situation. "Shall we get you prepared, then?" he inquired.

"Yes, but be quick about it," said Malfoy.

"Of course," said Wilson graciously, bowing slightly and disappearing into another room.

* * *

It was about this time that it hit Hermione, gut level, that Malfoy was going to lead one of those Death Eater raids tonight because of that elusive Time Turner. Before buying the wand, before going to Hogsmeade, before anything. Because of her suggestion, Muggles would die who wouldn't have otherwise.

She felt sick as she watched Wilson return with an armload of heavy black cloth. Malfoy used magic to dry off his remaining clothing, and did a hasty job of slapping on some Adam Balm without bothering to disrobe any further. Then Wilson helped him into what at first glance appeared to be Muggle bullet-proof body armor. On closer inspection it was clearly Wizard-made, but there was no doubt as to what had influenced its design. Of course it made perfect sense; bullets were always going to be a risk when dealing with Muggles. Malfoy himself had been hit by bullets once before, and almost been killed by them. Something like this would offer some protection to the body and upper legs without interfering with any magical protections he might also use.

But still - between this and Malfoy's attempt to buy information on Muggle painkillers off St. James a few hours before, Hermione was starting to wonder just where he drew the line when it came to wizarding re-use of Muggle technology. Maybe Nesbitt was right about that monopoly Malfoy had created. With the resources at his disposal, his ignorance of Muggle law, and with the right consultants - greedy for reasons of their own - driving his actions, there was really no particular reason he couldn't have done it. And if he really did think it was all right to use Muggle technology so long as it was recreated in Wizarding terms first, then the fact that the monopoly had been in the defense industry did suddenly seem a lot more ominous.

After the armored robe came a black head-and-neck wrapping that left only his face exposed, and then Wilson helped him into a heavy black felt hooded robe of more traditional and symbolic design. _A Death Eater's robe,_ thought Hermione.

For the first time, she began to think in terms of what she, personally, might be able to do to stop him from killing someone. There wasn't much, but she did have a few advantages -- he didn't know about her fly form, or even that she was watching. And, she knew his weaknesses.

During the process of the robing, several house-elves had appeared in the doorway and around the edges of the bedroom.

One of them was Bitsy, the tiny elf Malfoy had given his flask to. She popped up in front of him, next to the vanity.

"Have you filled it then?" he said, holding out his hand. "Give it here."

Bitsy nearly fell over herself as she offered the flask up. "Yes, Master Draco sir, Bitsy fill it exactly as Master wanted. Bitsy hopes there is something else Bitsy may do to serve Master, right away and with no arguing or complaint -"

"That will be all, Bitsy," said Malfoy heavily. He glanced past her to a tall skinny elf who was yearning anxiously in his direction. An expression very like pain flickered across his face. "Nally, what is it now?"

The skinny elf clasped her hands together. "Nally hopes Master not be drinking whiskey and Pain no More at the same time," she began deferentially. Then Wilson was forced to step back, and Nally was forced to duck as Malfoy scowled and threw the flask at her. It struck the wall and clattered loudly to the floor. "Nally is sorry, Master!" the elf squeaked, covering her eyeballs with her hands. "Nally not thinking before talking!"

"I should say not," said Malfoy in annoyance. "Does anyone else want to contribute any helpful suggestions before I decide how to run my life?"

Bitsy went to retrieve the fallen flask and presented it to Malfoy again.

"Er," said Sticky from behind Malfoy's back, just as he took it from her. "Matsy find Time Turner."

Malfoy spun around, causing Wilson to back off again, and causing Sticky to fling his arms over his head defensively as if he expected to have the flask thrown at him too. But Malfoy's attention darted quickly past Sticky to another elf lingering in the doorway. She was a fat little creature wearing a clean white silk pillowcase neatly monogrammed with an "M" in gold thread.

"Matsy find," she said proudly, holding up her chubby fist. There was a delicate gold chain wrapped around her hand, and dangling from it was a tiny glass snake twisted into an ouroboros with white sand inside.

"I knew it!" said Malfoy, his voice low and furious. He shoved the flask into an inner pocket then held out a hand for the Time Turner.

"All Sticky's fault," said Sticky woefully. He sank down to the floor, gripping his own ears.

"Sticky not destroy Time Turner himself," said Matsy, as she minced forward to let Malfoy have the device. "Sticky tell Poopsie destroy it for him. Bad Poopsie not destroy it but hide it instead, in scullery."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. All around him, more elves had silently appeared. There had to be ten or fifteen of them in the room now! They all were nodding in response to Matsy's words.

"Bad Poopsie try to keep it for evidence," said one of the males who hadn't spoken yet. "Freed elf not care for Master, not like good elves. Poopsie kept Time Turner, just waiting for chance to get Master in trouble. Poor Sticky not knowing. Not knowing at all."

Sticky was practically rocking back and forth in misery. "Poopsie said she knew good place to destroy it. Forge-fire, very hot, destroy it completely. Sticky believed Poopsie! Poopsie promised."

"Not smart believe bad elf, Sticky," observed Nally from behind Malfoy.

"Bad elf try to trick you," said Bitsy, who was practically clinging to the back of Malfoy's robes. "Get you in trouble with Master. Make you do bad thing."

"Sticky very, very sorry," said Sticky. "Sticky beats head on floor in sorryness for being tricked by bad Poopsie." _Whump!_ The elf proceeded to drive his forehead into the floor so hard his feet flew into the air and Hermione would have gasped had she been in human form. The second and third thumps weren't nearly so hard as the first, and the floor was carpeted, but still. It was the floor! And he was beating his head against it!

Malfoy fingered the Time Turner wordlessly for a moment, as they spoke. The impacts of Sticky's head against the floor continued to sound out rhythmically into the room as Wilson got down on his knees in front of Malfoy and finished buttoning the heavy black robe. The elves watched as Malfoy shifted, then wiped away a false tear - one of the many possible side effects of Pain no More. Finally he looked up.

"It's not Poopsie's fault she was freed," he said severely. "And I won't have you making her your scapegoat. It's entirely unacceptable."

The elves all ducked their heads, but Hermione noticed they looked quite thoroughly unconvinced. For that matter, Malfoy didn't try to refute their accusation either. It stood as leveled, unanswered.

"And you," he addressed Sticky. "Stop that at once. If I want you to damage yourself, I'll tell you."

"Yes, Master," said Sticky immediately, aborting his head-banging in mid-thump. "Sticky very sorry. Sticky very _very_ sorry. And -"

"Yes yes, everybody is always very sorry," growled Malfoy bitterly. "Much good it ever does me. That's enough, Wilson."

"Then I shall retire until you have need of me again ?" Wilson started to ask, but halfway through his question Malfoy brushed past him and swept out of the room.

After a moment, there was a mad rush as all the elves tried to follow Malfoy out at once.

"Very well then," said Wilson with a smile, apparently satisfied that the proprieties had been observed. He rose creakily to his feet, clutched briefly at his back, then disappeared back into his own chamber. He drew the door closed, leaving Hermione alone in the opulent bedroom.

_Good God,_ she realized. _I have to catch Malfoy before he does something unforgivable with that Time Turner._

In a trice, she had buzzed out of the room in hot pursuit of the sound of quarrelling elves.

* * *

Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please review!


	43. The Hand of Voldemort

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 43: The Hand of Voldemort

* * *

The shrine to Voldemort at Malfoy Manor was located in a small room deep in the interior of the house. Hermione could feel the strength of the wards protecting it as she passed through riding on Malfoy's shoulder; the elves fell silent and backed away rather than following him in. When the door closed behind him it seemed to seal them into complete silence.

Velvet draped the walls, and magically sustained candles kept the floor in perpetual light. The room's only other feature was a small altar upon which a statuette of a snake lay coiled. In the center of its embrace rested a small bronze sphere.

Instead of going straight to the altar, Malfoy stopped and leaned his back against the door, exhaling a deep sigh. Then he reached up with both arms, and Hermione could hear joints pop as he stretched his whole body. Next he shook his hands out, as if loosening them.

It took Hermione a moment to realize what he was doing: he was limbering up, like an athlete before a competition.

_Or a raid,_ she thought with a sinking feeling.

* * *

Voldemort's bid for living immortality had ended forever with his eighth and final defeat at the hands of Harry Potter many years before. But although dead, Voldemort was far from gone; in the years since his downfall he'd attained a sort of quasi-divinity in the eyes of his followers.

Whether this meant he actually did still exist in some godlike state, or if in name and idea only, was a matter of debate. Of course, all divine entities endured such question, so this was hardly unique to Voldemort.

If he did exist, his ability to affect the real world seemed to be limited. He might be able to communicate his wishes to his followers in vague terms. He might be able to perform brief interventions in times of dire need, or assist in such rituals as required the help of a higher power - the Dark Link, for example. But in the absence of physical manifestations of Voldemort himself, or the creation of great miracles, concrete proof of his continued existence was difficult to come by. Ultimately it came down to what a person believed. And enough people actually believed in Voldemort that the Death Eaters had proved impossible to stamp out, even so many years after their Dark Lord's demise.

* * *

Whatever Malfoy's issues with painkillers, someone had at least taught him how to warm up properly. By the time he was done, even Brunhilde Stompkinder, the twins' slavedriving ballet instructor, would have been satisfied.

Afterward his breaths were coming light and quick from the mild exertion, and a thin sheen of sweat gleamed in the candle-light.

Malfoy found the Time Turner in a pocket and pulled it out. He looped the thin gold chain around his right wrist, then twined it around several more times and dropped it through itself to leave the ouroboros dangling on a short tether. He twitched his hand experimentally, then adjusted the chain, tugging it snug against the heel of his palm. Now when he flicked his wrist, the Time Turner came easily to his fingertips again and again.

Hermione had the awful feeling he'd used it on raids many times in the past. This casual motion, _flick, flick,_ like a gun spinning on a Muggle cowboy's finger, spoke of long familiarity with the tool.

* * *

Voldemort's followers consisted of two groups: the Inner Circle, who were a sort of priesthood and the only ones who could supposedly commune directly with him; and the Hand of Voldemort, which was the ever-evolving strike team that had wreaked so much devastation along the interface between the Muggle and Wizarding worlds over the years.

The former group was thought to be made up of the last remaining survivors of Voldemort's original followers, though in truth there had never been such a thing as an 'inner circle' before Voldemort died. That there was one now was, in some people's opinions, fairly strong evidence that Voldemort himself no longer existed even in part.

Besides announcing the supposed will and intentions of Voldemort, the Circle were also believed to be the ones responsible for manufacturing the real-world "acts" of their Dark Lord. Whether this was true or not, nobody but them could know; naturally they represented these events as direct action taken by their fallen lord from beyond the veil.

Communications with the Inner Circle were addressed to Voldemort himself, with the understanding that the Circle either presented those communications to Voldemort and obtained an answer, or else answered themselves in his name. Again, only they could know exactly which, and perhaps even they no longer knew. After all, most of them had spent far too long in Azkaban under the Dementors, and chances were they weren't at all sane. It was said that they even communicated with each other in terms of Voldemort's name.

By contrast, the activities of the Hand of Voldemort - known among those who still feared to speak his name simply as the Hand - were much more clearly defined. The Hand learned the identity of, and sought out, Muggles who knew about the Wizarding world. In a way, they were similar to the Ministry's Obliviators in that their goal was to keep the Muggle and Wizarding worlds as separated as possible. But unlike the Obliviators, they brutally killed their Muggle victims, as a warning to witches and wizards who had associated with them. And if those witches or wizards happened to be in the way at the time, they killed them too.

The media and the Ministry represented the Death Eaters as criminals, and of course they were. But some in the wizarding world felt that the Death Eaters were not the real problem, but only a symptom: a vigilante group that acted decisively to clean up what the Ministry refused to acknowledge as a growing issue. In fact, the Death Eaters might even have enjoyed fairly widespread support had they chosen to employ Obliviation techniques instead of killing.

* * *

The Time Turner must have been enchanted to go back mere seconds per turn, because Malfoy had to turn it dozens of times to take them back the short time to the hour of the Death Eater raid.

If Hermione hadn't used a Time Turner quite a bit herself she might not have recognized that they'd gone back in time at all; the room itself looked exactly the same. But now Malfoy was moving more quickly, and his breaths held a slight shiver that could have been adrenaline or could have been something else. The burning of his Dark Mark, perhaps, calling him to a meeting, a raid, or worse.

He knelt before the altar and drew the Wanmaker wand, laying it on the floor. If it was a raid he was being called for, it stood to reason he wouldn't want to carry a wand that could be connected to him legally; if it were somehow captured in battle it would be powerful evidence against him. Or maybe wands simply were not allowed when one was summoned. From what Hermione had heard about Voldemort's methods, and later the Inner Circle's, paranoia and keeping the individual Death Eaters from becoming too powerful seemed to be the way things were done.

Then he reached into his robes and withdrew a white mask - a Death Eater's mask. He put it on, tying it firmly into place and pulling up his hood to cover his head. Without the hood's folds to shadow her Hermione felt terribly exposed on the surface of his robe, but she didn't dare leave his person. If she did, she'd lose him for sure. And she had to know what happened in the next several hours!

When he was finished with these preparations he bowed his head in an attitude of prayer and took a deep breath. Hermione could feel the tension in him lessen slightly, as if he were forcing himself to relax somewhat. He took another deep breath, and this time he whispered something Hermione couldn't quite catch. The candles flared momentarily brighter, and a faint rasp sounded from the sphere in the snake's coils. It rocked slightly as if touched; afterward, it seemed somehow changed.

Hermione guessed that the sphere was a one-shot Portkey, designed to remain nonfunctional until the night of a given raid, and then filled with that night's secret meeting-location on a need-to-know basis. This would keep even the Death Eaters going on the raid in the dark about the raid plans for as long as possible.

The filling of the one-shot had probably been triggered by whatever keyword or phrase he'd whispered. Hermione was sure he could have used it at any point after that, but Malfoy did not pick it up right away. He remained kneeling there for quite a bit longer, head bowed. She wondered if he was trying to ready himself further, or if it was an attempt to demonstrate reverence above and beyond the minimum.

* * *

In her youth, Hermione had believed that there was such a thing as an absolute moral _right _and _wrong,_ universal and untouchable, and that rules and laws were meant to enshrine and illuminate this pair of supposedly immutable concepts. She'd believed that everybody already knew right from wrong naturally, and that anybody who did wrong did it on purpose to be malicious. To her teenaged mind, it seemed the process of crafting the laws should have been as simple as writing them down, since everybody already knew how people ought to behave. Anybody who made passing a law more difficult was therefore by definition an obstructionist, or greedy, or had ulterior motives. The idea that right and wrong were subjective, and that differing points of view actually had some bearing on their definitions, was a concept she never quite took seriously.

Living in wartime hadn't exactly helped to convince her otherwise; in war, one fought for one's own beliefs and the enemy was automatically wrong. And even during the years after the war, which she'd spent building up S.P.E.W. and lobbying for elf rights, and then the heady time of their victory when law had been passed freeing all of the elves simultaneously from their bondage, it was too easy to see only her own point of view, and to see everybody else as wrong.

It wasn't until much later, when reality came crashing down and the ugly process of integrating elves into society dragged on longer and longer, that Hermione finally began to understand.

* * *

The bronze sphere did indeed turn out to be a one-shot Portkey; when Malfoy picked it up and squeezed it, he and Hermione fell into a whirling blackness and eventually resurfaced in an equally darkened, but much larger place.

Several voices had been raised in a loud argument, but were abruptly hushed when the participants noticed Malfoy's arrival.

"I'll handle him," said a woman's voice, grim and determined.

Malfoy turned and Hermione was able to see the huge chamber they had appeared in. It had apparently been magically carved from stone. Perhaps it was located far underground; there certainly didn't seem to be any entrances or exits.

There were some twenty-five other people there, all robed and masked as Malfoy was, their eyes shining with an eerie white glow through the holes of their masks. They were clustered at the far end of the giant room, all save the one who was stalking toward Malfoy and Hermione.

But far more eyecatching than the oncoming witch was a larger-than-life-size statue looming along the wall halfway between. It was a bipedal, manlike figure with a snake's neck and head. Its arms were outstretched as if in offering, or perhaps to receive, and a heavy gold chalice rested between them apparently held in mid-air by magic. Dozens of lighted candles were clustered on the dais around the statue's feet.

"You're late!" snapped the witch as she descended upon them.

"Always such a pleasure, Brandt," Malfoy muttered under his breath. He turned his back on the witch in order to place his one-shot on a shelf on the wall next to him. It was one of many shelves lined with shallow depressions holding other Portkeys - perhaps those belonging to the other Death Eaters.

Amexia Brandt - for it was apparently she - used the moment of his distraction to hurry her last steps, then launched herself at his back, slapping and punching him several times.

"How dare you keep us waiting!" she exclaimed in indignant tones. "Of all the -" _whap, slap_ " - inconsiderate -" _whap!_

"Brandt!" yelped Malfoy, turning quickly to face the onslaught. "Get off me!"

Hermione buzzed away in a hasty retreat, as finding out what Malfoy did in the next few hours was _not_ going to happen if she got squashed flat first. She circled down toward the other end of the room, then came back to track Malfoy's progress as he attempted to escape in the direction of the large statue. Amexia Brandt was following him, her voice raised to a near-screech.

"Forty-five minutes. _Forty-five minutes,_ Malfoy. We could have done the whole damn raid _ten times_ in the time you've kept us waiting."

"Leave me alone," he snarled, pushing her away. "If you had any idea of the night I've had -"

_ "Your_ night?" she exclaimed. "Try being one of twenty-four people who had to maintain a battle-ready state for the last _forty five minutes_."

"You're standing in the way," said Malfoy. "Or do we demonstrate obeisance to you instead of Him now?"

It was true; they had arrived at the statue and Brandt had come between him and it. Grudgingly she stepped aside, and Malfoy went down on his knees immediately, bowing his head in an attitude of prayer.

"This is the third time you've been late," she said. "It won't do at all. Everybody hates you enough as it is, without your rubbing their faces in how much we need you for the raids."

"Can't you see," said Malfoy, "that I'm doing something rather important that shouldn't be interrupted?"

Brand crouched down and dug her fingers into his shoulder, right where Hermione had been sitting a short time before. "This transition won't last forever and you know it," she hissed. "You'd best stop making enemies and start making friends, before it's too late."

"Oh, do piss off, Brandt!" exclaimed Malfoy. "I'll be done in a moment!"

"Wilcox and Stanleigh have almost figured out the Animagus transformation," said Brandt. "And when they have, we won't need you any more. At all."

_Animagi to scout,_ thought Hermione. _To spy without arousing suspicions._

There was a long pause, and Hermione realized Brandt had finally gotten Malfoy's full attention.

"We'll see about Wilcox and Stanleigh," he muttered.

"We'll see them take your place," said Brandt, an unmistakable hint of triumph in her voice.

"Don't count on it," said Malfoy. "You can't learn that transformation from a book."

"Maybe they're not learning it from books," she said.

There was another pause, this one a bit longer.

"Look," said Malfoy. "Can we talk about this later? Everybody's waiting."

"Oho," said Brandt. _"Now_ you care."

_"He's_ waiting."

Brandt glanced carelessly up at the statue looming over them. _"He_ won't bother to protect you anymore when there are better alternatives available," she said.

"Do you want me to scout tonight or not?" snapped Malfoy. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Amexia Brandt looked at him for a moment longer, then pushed off on his shoulder to stand up.

"For now," she said. "You're here for now."

And she stalked off to rejoin the others.

* * *

House-elf magic was, in its own way, more powerful than witches and wizards could muster. They had their own rules and means that human magic would never be able to control. And now that they were free, they could use that magic for anything at all in the world.

But being free hadn't changed the house-elves fundamentally. The ones that were meek as slaves were still meek as freed elves. The ones that were cunning before were still cunning now. The ones that had been filled with rage were still filled with rage. And the ones that had been quite mad were still mad as hatters.

Actually, truth be told, almost all house-elves were a bit mad in one way or another. And on top of that, for most of them, losing their Families was a devastating and traumatic experience.

In the years following the freeing of the house-elves, the news became filled with stories of the crazy things freed house-elves had done. Many of them became fiendishly prankish. Others took revenge or committed random acts purely for entertainment. And in a few cases freed-elves indulged in truly dangerous criminal acts: vandalism and assault, arson and murder. Sometimes the victims of the pranks or crimes were the house-elf's own former family, for their abuses. Sometimes the victims were in fact the enemies of the house-elf's former family, people the elf could never have attacked before without incriminating their former masters. And sometimes, tragically, the victims were their fellow house-elves.

But despite all of that, the one crime house-elves were guilty of most often was attempting to re-form family bonds.

And that, to Hermione, was the greatest tragedy of all.

* * *

As Malfoy knelt in apparent prayer before the statue of Voldemort, a thin black snake issued from the statue's mouth and coiled down around its neck. The surroundings remained so quiet Hermione could hear the soft hiss of the snake's scales on stone as it wound its way down one of the statue's arms and through its fingers. Then it shifted and paled, becoming a simple card of paper with elegant handwriting on it resting in the statue's hand. From her new vantage point on the floor behind Malfoy she could read it easily:

_Family gathering at 21 Lancaster Row, Bingleton.  
15 Muggles in-the-know, 10 Muggles who do not know.  
House owned by Jelida Rose, Witch, Age 46  
Other magical occupants: Mason Frame, Age 75, Colleen Becker, Age 45.  
Objective: Total elimination, no exceptions.  
Special Instructions: Danager_

Liquid welled from the statue's fangs, then trickled like blood or wine down its stone front following the folds of its carven clothing, down its arms. Its many paths seemed meandering and random, but they all ultimately led to the same place. A tinkling sound filled the hushed chamber as the purply-red substance began to fill the chalice floating between the statue's hands. Hermione realized that this chalice must contain the combat potions St. James spoke of. It could just as easily have been poison, though, just as the one-shot Portkey could have transported its passenger into the heart of a volcano. Partaking of these tools and gifts was an act of faith in Voldemort's - or the Inner Circle's - continued favor.

It occurred to Hermione now to wonder whether Malfoy truly believed in Voldemort, or if he were simply afraid of the Inner Circle. Perhaps it didn't matter, though; whichever it was clearly had a powerful hold over him, for him to have remained a Death Eater all this time.

From their distance, the other Death Eaters watched with glowing eyes as Malfoy lifted the filled chalice down carefully and drank its contents. They looked hungry, jealous even, and Hermione was reminded that these potions were also addictive.

When Malfoy looked up again, his eyes were faintly glowing.

* * *

House-elves were really only good at one thing: household magic. They could do harmful or destructive things just about anywhere, but their good and positive abilities all centered around serving in houses.

To the members of S.P.E.W., as they lobbied feverishly for the passing of the elf freedom law, it had seemed only natural that Freed elves would be employed in people's homes as before - only being Freed, they would actually be paid. And because they weren't bought and sold like merchandise, anybody would be able to afford to use one, provided they could pay for the hours.

But when the time came, most of the newly-freed Elves were appalled at the idea of being paid, and found it vastly demoralizing and degrading. It took many years for even a sensible and mentally stable elf to come to accept money as a necessary evil, and take a practical approach to being paid. Not that they had any choice; if they tried to work for free, their employers were arrested. And most house-elves didn't want that.

The second problem was much trickier, and that was that while house-elves generally didn't care how much they got paid, they did care a great deal about where they worked. There was a good reason the Burrow had never had a house-elf to date, despite Hermione's many connections and her lack of interest in housekeeping: house-elves quite simply refused to work in a house they viewed as a dump. They didn't like small houses either, or ones without architectural merit, or houses that didn't have rich famous people living in them.

And not everybody could be famous and live in a beautiful manor house or castle, after all.

Truth be told, most of the elves wanted to live and work in the exact same kind of house they'd been enslaved in a short time before. The only difference being, some of them were opportunistic enough to attempt to work in a better house or different house than the actual one they'd belonged to before, as a way of advancing themselves or to escape bad owners.

And then, once they'd found the best possible place of employment, most elves wanted to lock in their hold on that family by becoming that family's bonded house-elf, which was now of course illegal. In most cases the family was prosecuted rather than the elf, because that was how the law was written. But the truth was, in at least half of the cases of post-emancipation elf slavery, the elf wanted it as much as the family. Many witches and wizards spent time in Azkaban for a crime that almost any house-elf would have been a glad accomplice to.

* * *

When Malfoy was finished, he arose and joined the other Death Eaters at a huge broad table at the other end of the room. The table was about counter-height and covered with sets of shallow depressions corresponding to the people standing around it. Most of them were empty, but each person had at least a couple of the round one-shot Portkeys resting in front of them. The center of the table contained an urn with ice water and an assembly of water glasses; neatly rolled white towels and a tray of refreshments. A blackboard with chalk stood nearby.

"New and old business," said Malfoy, his voice crisp and precise in the hushed surroundings.

"Already handled," said Amexia Brandt. "While we were waiting for _you."_ There was an edge to her voice, testy and ready for a fight, that nearly demanded a retort.

But all Malfoy said, after a slight pause, was "The minutes, then?"

A couple of sheets of parchment were passed around the table to him and he took the time to read them over, while the rest of the Death Eaters stood there watching him.

"Very well," he said, when he was finished. He lowered the parchments. "Anything else?"

"You mean such as, _the raid?" _said Amexia Brandt sarcastically.

Malfoy frowned, but again forbore answering the challenge in her voice. He only nodded and handed the parchments back to the Death Eater next to him, then picked up a wand from the section of table in front of him. The other hollows on his portion of the table were filled with a dozen Portkeys, a wizard-photo of a house, and, incongruously, a dog-eared Muggle street atlas. Malfoy stored the wand in his forearm sheath, then picked up the atlas, flipping through it at length until he found the page he was looking for. After double-checking the address written on the card the statue had given him, he tossed the book back onto the table.

"One hundred fifty seconds," Malfoy said. His voice was different now, seeming a bit more breathless than before. Hermione noticed his eyes were glowing brighter - nearly as bright as the others' now. She realized the combat potions must be gaining in strength in his system, making him faster, stronger, more alert, and all the rest. Presumably the peak of the effects would be centered on the raid itself, but St. James had said there were also residual effects that would take many hours to come down from fully.

"One hundred fifty seconds for initial scout," said Amexia Brandt. "I _do_ hope you don't require time to prepare, we've been waiting long enough."

"No," said Malfoy. "I'm ready." He drew his wand again and picked up the wizard-photo of the house, studying it minutely.

The other Death Eaters looked more alert. The only sounds from them were their breaths, the scuff of cloth and leather as they adjusted masks and robes, made sure of wands tucked into pockets and sashes.

_This is it,_ thought Hermione. _The beginning of an actual Muggle raid._

"Scout one, stand by for initial scout and mapping," said Brandt.

Malfoy raised his wand in Apparition position and Hermione knew that if she wanted to go with him, she'd have to land on his shoulder again now.

But Apparating was unpleasant enough in human form; it was excruciating for an insect. She could stand it for the brief time a normal Apparition took, but Nesbitt had said Malfoy used extreme Soft Apparition techniques to scout. Theoretically the entire one hundred fifty seconds could be one long Apparition, fading in and out to the different parts of the target location. In fact it really had to be, for him to retain a foothold here at the launch point without actually knowing its location. Could she endure that and remain conscious? She, unlike Malfoy, hadn't drunk Pain No More beforehand.

Reluctantly, she circled past Malfoy and landed on the wall nearby instead. He'd be back. He had no other choice. And he wouldn't be able to sneak off to Hogwarts in the middle of it, not without losing the ability to return here. Georgia and Freida were safe for now.

"Scout one, go," said Amexia Brandt.

* * *

Hermione wasn't stupid. In fact, she was quite bright when she wasn't blinded by her own ideals. As several years passed and things continued to get worse and not better, she had to admit deep in her heart that freeing the house-elves had caused more problems than it had solved.

But try as she could, she could think of nothing S.P.E.W. should have done differently. Certainly if it was in her power to go back and undo it, she wouldn't. The elves were freed - and freedom was a privilege that everybody deserved. Right?

But S.P.E.W. had become bitterly divided as to what to do next. One faction advocated more laws, to set minimum wages for house-elves or to make illegal the working of a house-elf for their original master for any price. Others wanted mandatory education for the freed-elves, a probation of sorts to be ended only when they could be consider well-adjusted citizens of the wizarding world. Still a third group thought perhaps isolation and containment - such as was practiced upon the Centaurs - was the only solution. And of course, there were plenty of S.P.E.W. members who thought all of these ideas would do nothing but take away elf freedoms.

Hermione knew that the last thing the Wizarding World needed was laws dictating who could work for who. Mandatory education for the house-elves would be nothing more than brainwashing them. And containment was out of the question, having in fact had become a highly contentious issue as other nonhuman races had become more militant after the house-elves were freed. But Hermione had nothing better to suggest. At least those other people were trying to offer up solutions, instead of getting stuck in the apathetic political funk she increasingly found herself in.

The truth was, it seemed to her that there was no best solution to this problem. The only way might be to tough out the bad times for several house-elf generations, until elves who'd never known anything but freedom had finally been assimilated into Wizarding society completely. Until there were no more old elves who pined to belong to a family left anymore. Until it had all been forgotten like it never was.

But wasn't that just another, longer-term form of brainwashing?

* * *

Just as Hermione anticipated, Malfoy faded in and out several times, pausing only long enough for a snatch of breath before disappearing again. When he finally resolidified fully at the Death Eater launch point, he was breathing hard, and a light sweat had sprung up on his skin. To Hermione's fly senses he smelled pleasantly of green grass, flowers, and fresh cold rain. His robe was sprinkled with wet dots as if he'd been caught in a light drizzle.

He picked up the chalk with his free hand and began to sketch an outline of a house on the chalkboard. It was quick, quiet, businesslike. Nesbitt had told her that this was what made Malfoy valuable to the Death Eaters and she could believe it; in less than two minutes he'd sketched a crude floor plan of the house complete with x's to mark the occupants, as well as a basic sketch of the yard and streets surrounding. There were even notations as to where and how the magical occupants had placed the house's wards.

He tossed the chalk back into its tray and there was a bit of a silence while everybody studied the drawing, possibly memorizing it. Hermione could hear several watches ticking softly in the room. Malfoy massaged his left shoulder with his right hand, leaving chalky fingerprints on his robe.

"Well?" said Amexia Brandt, after a couple of minutes had passed.

"We'll use two jump points, I think," said Malfoy. "Merchant Street Pub in Foxborough, and Camel Creek Campgrounds in West Ides. Wards Team One will be Danager. Wards Team Two will be Ryder, Castleton and Briggs. You'll tackle West Ides. It's deserted, so the warning-perimeter can be wide, twenty meters I think. Apparition and Muggle repulsion wards at the jump point itself. Breaker Team One will be Kittering, Landower and Barnham." Malfoy pointed at a line on the map. "This is the one I want taken out: the No-Harm-Charm on the house itself. Everything else will help us as much as it helps them.

"Wards Team Three will be the same three joined by Ryder when he's released from Wards Two. I want full anti-Muggle and combat wards on the front and back property lines. There are gates here, and here. Double ward them please. Silence and electric-proof the structure walls and everything within, and make the yard a no-fly zone for good measure. Everybody else, you're on Combat."

"How much time will you need for Wards One?" asked Amexia Brandt, as one-shots all over the table started rocking and jerking, their enchantments taking hold now that the destinations were known.

"Twe-" began one of the Death Eaters, presumably Danager.

"Forty-five seconds," interrupted Malfoy.

"Forty-five? That's twice as long as anybody takes for jump point wards, Malfoy," snapped Amexia Brandt.

Under the edge of the mask, Malfoy's lips drew into a thin scowl. "Too bad, Brandt. He's taking forty-five seconds."

A couple of the other Death Eaters snickered anonymously from behind their fellows, and Hermione could see a defensive tension growing in Malfoy's body language. She also noticed he hadn't sheathed his wand since he'd come back, and now gripped it tighter than ever. He and Brandt stared at each other for a few seconds, neither backing down.

"Wards Team two," said someone else. "Thirty seconds."

"Breaker Team one," added another. "Six seconds."

It was Amexia Brandt who relented first, tearing her eyes away from Malfoy's stare. "Thirty and six," she repeated. "How long for Wards Team Three then?"

She didn't look at Malfoy again after that.

* * *

Some niggling part of Hermione knew that her grandiose notion of _freedom_ had never been wanted by more than a few individual house-Elves. Had, in fact, been inflicted on the entire race using the leverage supplied by S.P.E.W.'s work to shame all of wizardkind and inflame the public conscience.

And had the true happiness of the elves ever been considered, or had human values been pasted onto them covering up their own desires and culture? And was it even the majority opinion when it came to humans, at that? No. It had been the morals of a minority, inflicted upon the rest of the wizarding race.

At some point it had finally dawned upon Hermione that the reason she had won on the issue of elf emancipation wasn't because she was more "right" than anybody else. In fact, no matter how righteous she felt, no matter how passionate she felt about her own point of view or its ultimate correctness, when it came to morals it was simply impossible to be more "correct" than anyone else, objectively speaking.

She could, through a titanic effort, force her opinion of right and wrong on others, and even cause it to become law. But that didn't make her opinion better than theirs; it just made her the most influential. The greatest triumph of her young life had come about not because she was a visionary leader, but because she was a colossal bully.

And there was a part of Hermione that could admit she had turned away from politics and entered into the business world specifically to escape that awful realization. In consulting, she could always be right because nobody hired a consultant for something they already knew how to do. The results spoke for themselves. And only one person's opinion - the client's - mattered, so that made solving problems so much less complicated. And in business, as in law and medicine, there still existed a code of honor that worked because of the narrow, artificial environment it existed in. Everybody knew how it worked, and only criminals intentionally did any different.

She couldn't stop believing that all house-elves should love their freedom and stand up for their rights. She couldn't stop wanting to change the world for the good, despite not knowing how it should be done. And she couldn't get rid of the guilt of what she'd done already.

But she could turn away from it and refuse to dwell on it any longer, in a decade-long avoidance more shameful and appalling than just a night in a dumpster.

* * *

"Wards Team One, stand by for final check and wards setup. Floo jump point one. Merchant Street Pub. _Forty-five_ seconds. Stand by."

Malfoy picked up the first of the one-shots in front of him and placed it in his pocket, then picked up the second and gripped it in his right hand. The other Death Eater Hermione assumed was Danager did the same. She didn't recognize Danager by name, nor could she tell much from his robed silhouette. But why should she recognize Death Eaters these days anyway, when she'd recognized nobody in Ernie's Café?

"And, go Wards Team One," said Amexia Brandt.

Malfoy squeezed his Portkey and vanished during the word 'and', with Danager following a couple of seconds after.

There was a brief silence.

"One," said Amexia Brandt.

"What the devil?" said one of the remaining Death Eaters.

"I know, I was going to say," said another.

"Three," said Amexia Brandt.

"Since when does Danager do wards?" said someone else.

"I've seen him do anti-Electrical wards."

"Not regular Muggle wards though. Not in years."

"Forget the wards, why did Malfoy put himself in a position to be alone with Danager, and for forty-five whole seconds?"

"Talk with him privately maybe?" suggested someone.

"Twenty-five," said Amexia Brandt.

"He wouldn't dare," said someone else. "Not without a good reason. The way Danager's been talking lately, he's as likely to curse Malfoy as one of the Muggles."

"I've seen him do it."

A beat of silence.

"Thirty-three," said Amexia Brandt.

"Curse Malfoy? You have?"

"No joke just last week, too. Took a pot shot at him during a raid and tried to claim it was an accident."

"Ha, accident my arse. Just doing what any of us would do, only he had the balls to actually do it."

"Forty-two," said Amexia Brandt.

At that point, Malfoy reappeared and immediately staggered. He was panting fit to burst a lung. He went down on one knee, taking his weight briefly on his non-wand arm, as two Death Eaters standing near him surged forward to help him.

"Forty-three," said Amexia Brandt. "Fifteen second turnaround. Fifteen seconds, people."

"You're losing it, Malfoy," said one of the other Death Eaters.

"Like hell," said Malfoy, as Brandt said 'forty-seven' and they were hauling him to his feet.

"Are you all right?" asked one of the others.

"Water," he panted. One of the people helping him reached for a glass of water and handed it to him.

"Where's Danager?" someone asked.

"Fifty One," said Brandt. "Stand by Scout One, stand by Wards Team Two."

"I'll be damned if I baby-sit that bastard any longer than I have to," said Malfoy, "And he's got his own Portkey, hasn't he?" Malfoy gulped his water, forestalling any further questions. Then he shoved the glass back onto the table and swapped out his Portkeys for two new ones

"Fifty-eight," said Amexia Brandt. "Go Scout One and Wards Two."

"But what about," began one of the others, but Malfoy and the three members of Wards Team Two vanished simultaneously.

There was a pause.

"Where the hell _is_ Danager?" said someone. "He better not have cut and run."

"Sixty-three," said Amexia Brandt.

"Danager? He wouldn't run or squeal. He's loyal."

"He's bloody insane is what he is. I wouldn't curse Malfoy unless I knew it'd take him down permanently in one shot and I'd taken care of the surrogates first. Anything else is just asking to be made an example of later."

"Saw it with my own eyes Friday before last. Tried to use Furtive Strike on him from behind but Malfoy deflected it."

"Danager only did what any of us would do, if we thought there was a way. I mean, if there was a way to make certain of Malfoy. And the surrogates."

"Seventy-six," said Amexia Brandt.

There was a pause.

"Better not let one of Malfoy's crew hear you talking about this, or you'll all be made an example in advance," advised one of the others, and some of the listeners chuckled uneasily.

"Or any of the Circle," someone else added. "They'd do it too."

"When's the last time any of you saw one of Malfoy's crew on a raid?" scoffed the speaker.

"Zabini two months ago," said someone promptly.

"Baby Bulstrode beginning of the summer," said another.

"Yeah, well, for Crabbe it's been more than two years, and the rest of them even longer than that. And as for the Circle, Carroll there has been with us three years now and he's still to see one of them in person. Just when would they be overhearing anything anyway?"

Several people glanced at the statue, as if it might in fact be overhearing them now, but just then the three Death Eaters of Wards Team Two burst back into the room, Portkeys in hand.

"Eighty-eight," said Amexia Brandt.

"Malfoy killed Danager!" the first of them exclaimed, just as another said, "Danager's dead!"

"He was lying face down in front of the first jump point. Hadn't a mark on him - Malfoy must've AK'd him but he rushed us straight past the body so we couldn't get a better look."

Hermione knew there was no way to prove Avada Kedavra had been used without a formal magical autopsy, because the spell left no marks. Danager could easily have died any number of other ways, including a heart attack, stroke, or even an overdose. But just the fact that they automatically assumed it was Malfoy's doing said a lot about what they thought of Malfoy.

"He had it planned," said one of the others. "He said forty-five seconds, not twenty-something. He knew he was going to have to figure out the wards and set them himself."

"He must have had Special Instructions," said a third.

There was a pause.

"Ninety-eight," said Amexia Brandt. Her voice sounded funny. Hermione realized there were tears in the witch's eyes. She wondered if Danager had been someone special to Brandt. Or maybe the witch was only callous about Muggle deaths.

"Or he just _wanted_ to kill him."

There was an even longer pause.

"Ninety-nine," said Amexia Brandt. "One hundred seconds." Her voice was grimmer now, harder, as if she was determined to believe nothing until she saw the proof.

"Malfoy wouldn't dare."

"The hell he wouldn't. Danager tried to kill him first, didn't he? It's only sense to make a preemptive strike before Danager got another chance."

"Malfoy wouldn't just kill someone without orders. Try to teach them a lesson maybe, but not kill them."

"One oh six," said Amexia Brandt.

"It was planned, I tell you. Everybody knows how Danager felt about Malfoy. With him at his back, Malfoy can claim it was in self-defense and it's the perfect excuse. We can't let him get away with that shite."

"One-twelve," said Amexia Brandt.

"You accuse him of that, he'll deny it and then demand a duel for the insult."

"He will," agreed another. "Guaranteed. And he can take you, Tucker."

"He could take any of us," said someone else.

"Not if we all confront him at once. He can't duel us all."

"You're mad!"

"Stand by Breaker Team One and Wards Three," said Amexia Brandt.

"If he has Special Instructions, all he has to do is prove it. That's simple enough."

"And if he can't?"

Any chance for further discussion was lost as Malfoy reappeared and rolled his one-shot smoothly back into its spot on the table.

"All clear for Breakers and Wards at target," he said breathlessly. His eyes darted to the group of people staring at him but by then Amexia Brandt had spoken to fill the gap.

"Go Breaker Team one. Go Wards Team Three. Stand by Scout One. Stand by Combat Teams One and Two."

"This is it," said Malfoy. "Everybody stay sharp." He took the other Portkey from his pocket and put it on the table, then took two new ones.

"One twenty-nine," said Amexia Brandt. "One-thirty."

_They're going to do it,_ thought Hermione. _The actual raid is happening now._

She hesitated, then darted down from the ceiling to land on Malfoy's shoulder and flattened herself against the dark cloth, making herself as difficult to see as she could. Dangerous though it was, it might be the only chance she ever got to see this. And she had to know. She couldn't kid herself. She had to see what he really did.

When Amexia Brandt reached "One thirty-three" she said "Go Scout One," and Malfoy gripped his one-shot harder.

And then the world disappeared from around them.

* * *

Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please review!


	44. First Strike

** Harry Potter Fan Fiction by whippy**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters. This was written for fun and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat**  
_by whippy_

* * *

Chapter 44: First Strike

* * *

Skeeter: Thank you for agreeing to this interview.

Anonymous: Quite all right… I apologize for the early hour.

Purple Prose Pen: _It is a dark and stormy night. _

Skeeter: I don't mind in the least. And it's not early for you at all, is it? You're used to working late hours.

Anonymous: Oh yes, I just got off of work actually. So this is a very convenient time for me.

Purple Prose Pen: _We meet in a private booth at the back of the Bear's Hares Pub. It seems an odd locale for an interview with one of the "good guys"._

Skeeter: Now as you may already know, I am working on a story about Rudeo Nesbitt.

Anonymous: Oh yes, and I've been following the rumors about it with great interest!

Purple Prose Pen: _Our interviewee is deceptively normal-looking. A person could chat with him for an hour, then not recognize him on the street the next day. That is how Special Operations likes its employees, of course._

Skeeter: Splendid! Well, I've managed to collect a good deal of information about Mr. Nesbitt so far, but I've had trouble finding a truly reliable _inside_ source.

Anonymous: I can imagine.

Purple Prose Pen: _And yet, he is also identifiably Special Ops. They have a definite look about them, one both comforting and unnerving...._

Skeeter: You are prepared to provide that sort of information?

Anonymous: Yes I am, Rita, if I can do so without breaking my oath as an Auror.

Purple Prose Pen: _…baby-faced and steely-eyed._

* * *

Anonymous: Er… excuse me, but were you going to actually use…?

Skeeter: …this? My Purple Prose Pen? Why, is there a problem?

Anonymous: It just seems, ah, well I feel a bit silly admitting this, but it seems rather overly dramatic doesn't it?

Purple Prose Pen: _The best informants are the ones who would rather lay down their lives than betray their department. The ones who burn with a fierce and terrible loyalty to company and commander that cannot, and will not, ever quite be reciprocated._

Skeeter: Oh, don't you worry about a thing, we'll get it edited right up before it goes to press. Now, you were once Rudeo Nesbitt's partner, am I right?

Anonymous: Oh… yes. Yes, I was.

Purple Prose Pen: _A man like Nesbitt can't help but generate this type of follower. He compels his people's loyalty with one breath and strikes them down with the next. They love and hate him, and they have no recourse for either within the confining strictures of Special Ops. _

Skeeter: And you aren't afraid that information, that fact that you were his partner at one time, will make it too easy to identify you?

Anonymous: [chuckles uneasily] It won't exactly narrow down the field, no.

Purple Prose Pen: _He pretends to joke about the number of partners Nesbitt has had. But underneath that gentle barb, like a cancer or a bottled-up explosive, lurks the wounded faith of a zealot discarded._

Skeeter: I knew Nesbitt had gone through a number of partners recently but I hadn't realized it was quite that bad!

Anonymous: Put it this way. He's had five failed partners just since Operation First Strike began. Ten since the beginning of the year. If you go back more than a few years, well, I could be nearly anybody.

Purple Prose Pen: _One doesn't want to think of Aurors, particularly old-line Aurors, as dangerously unstable. But there's something about the way he says I could be nearly anybody that strikes a chill up one's spine. _

* * *

Anonymous: I say! That's positively giving me the willies. Make it stop!

Skeeter: Go slow, pet. [to the quill]

Anonymous: I don't see why it's even necessary to use --

Skeeter: Maurice Benkmann.

Anonymous: …I beg your pardon?

Skeeter: There are rumors that Nesbitt's latest partner, Maurice Benkmann, isn't expected to last a week.

Anonymous: I hadn't heard, but it wouldn't surprise me. Benkmann's… an idealist.

Purple Prose Pen: _Our interviewee hesitates as he attempts to describe Nesbitt's current partner. It is clear there is much to say that cannot be encompassed in a word, or two words, or in an entire book of whispers. Benkmann is a rival. But he is still Special Ops._

Skeeter: I take it Mr. Nesbitt doesn't care for idealists?

Anonymous: You have to understand the type of people we're up against. If a Death Eater steps out of line or fails at a mission, the penalty is death. These are not people who can afford to blanch at doing what has to be done, so we can't be either. The last thing Nesbitt needs or wants is a partner who'll put him in danger out of naivete.

Purple Prose Pen: _He speaks as if he is Nesbitt's protector. If he cannot be the partner, he can at least judge those who step up to attempt that role. Even when they are his own brothers in the force._

Anonymous: [continues] Unfortunately, this is one of those cases where it's a mistake to put too much trust in humanity. I mean, if you look at the fact that some of these Death Eaters have no choice in what they do, for some people that translates into being kinder to them. In reality, though, you have to be ruthless just to survive against them.

Skeeter: In my radio interview with Nix Johnson, he said that most of the newer, younger Aurors are soft on criminals, that they don't have what it takes to contend with the likes of the Death Eaters effectively. Do you agree that Nesbitt has had trouble finding another long-term partner because the younger candidates are all too soft?

Anonymous: Well, that's probably an oversimplification. There are other factors too. Take Derringer for example: he was Nesbitt's partner right before Benkmann. Derringer is anything but soft. He knows what Death Eaters are, and he knows what has to be done. But he made the mistake of making Nesbitt look like a fool in public, and that was the kiss of death really.

Purple Prose Pen: _Again the definite sense of us-against-the world from him. Derringer was in the wrong and he did it in view of the rest of the world. That made him alone in his failure._

Skeeter: Derringer was sacked from Auror Special Operations over an incident in Hogsmeade last Monday, am I correct?

Anonymous: Yes.

Purple Prose Pen:_ But it could so easily have happened to anyone. Nesbitt is capricious and vindictive. On any other day, Derringer's job might have been saved. What incident or shortcoming led to our interviewee's own failure as Nesbitt's partner?_

Anonymous: [coughs]

Skeeter: According to news media, Derringer prevented Nesbitt from using excessive force against Draco Malfoy in front of dozens of witnesses.

Anonymous: To be honest, it was all just a misunderstanding.

Purple Prose Pen: _To one who has studied Rudeo Nesbitt, there was almost certainly no misunderstanding where excessive force is concerned. Even so, one simply can't help but ask…_

Skeeter: What happened?

Purple Prose Pen:_ Just to see how he will answer..._

Anonymous: Nesbitt wasn't actually using excessive force. The suspect had gone down, you know, dove down on the ground and curled up with his arms over his head… witnesses often misunderstand that sort of thing. It's difficult to believe anybody can be dangerous from that position, so then when they see further violence done to the person they assume it's unnecessary-use-of-force.

Skeeter: It isn't?

Anonymous: The suspect was carrying a second wand, you see, he hadn't been completely disarmed. Nesbitt was only keeping the pressure on to prevent him from drawing the spare wand until he could be cuffed.

Skeeter: I see. And what of these reports that Malfoy has gotten romantically entangled with Arthur Weasley's daughter-in-law?

Anonymous: Er… what?

Purple Prose Pen: _He looks much younger when he is confused._

Skeeter: Hermione Weasley… and Draco Malfoy.

Anoymous: Uh…

Purple Prose Pen: _More threatened, less sure of himself._

Skeeter: Isn't it scandalous? Several newspapers have reported them holding hands, eating breakfast together, and so forth.

Anomymous: Guh! I mean, I wouldn't put too much store by that. Some tabloids will print anything.

Purple Prose Pen: _He's definitely repelled by the idea. But why? Is it because of Weasley's bloodlines? Or is it the opposite, the fact that she is incontrovertibly good, and Malfoy incontrovertibly evil?_

Skeeter: But you can't deny she's working with him.

Anonymous: Working _for_ him – and only indirectly. What has this to do with Rudeo Nesbitt?

Skeeter: Wouldn't you say that Draco Malfoy is Nesbitt's nemesis?

Anonymous: Yes. Yes, I suppose most people would say that.

Skeeter: In fact, Nesbitt is obssessed with Draco Malfoy, isn't he?

Anonymous: Rather, yes.

Skeeter: So a piece about Nesbitt would hardly be complete without at least a mention of Malfoy, would it?

Anonymous: [no answer]

Skeeter: [rustling of papers] Now, Malfoy is a Death Eater –

Anonymous: Technically, he's innocent until proven guilty.

Skeeter: But everybody's known for years –

Anonymous: I won't speculate about suspects for the media.

Skeeter: [A pause.] Come, you needn't say anything about his being a suspected Death Eater to answer a couple of unrelated questions.

Anonymous: [no answer]

Skeeter: Nix Johnson called Malfoy slippery, and as dangerous as they come.

Anonymous: Johnson discussed many things he shouldn't have.

Skeeter: Do you think people underestimate Draco Malfoy?

Anonymous: [no answer]

Skeeter: Come on, is Malfoy generally underestimated? You can answer that at least, can't you?

Anonymous: [a pause, and then grudgingly] Yes, I think he is. He's a bit underestimated.

Skeeter: Why?

Anonymous: I think it's the way he presents himself, he's very unlucky and he tends to draw attention to that either consciously or unconsciously. A person gets the impression he's the type of fellow who can't get ahead, despite putting in a great deal of effort.

Skeeter: A very reassuring figure really. On some level we all want to believe that being born with all the advantages isn't enough, don't we?

Anonymous: I think many people do want to believe that, yes.

Skeeter: Do you believe it?

Anonymous: No. No I don't believe that at all, Rita.

Purple Prose Pen: _And now it becomes clear. Our interviewee exalts those of pure blood, and that will shape his reactions to people and events._

Skeeter: Going back to Draco Malfoy and Hermione Weasley.

Anonymous: Oh, no!

Purple Prose Pen: _A forbidden love, from opposite sides of the racial divide, of the political divide._

Anonymous: Please.

Purple Prose Pen: _Working closely together … very closely…_

Anonymous: That's… ugh. Could you please put that thing away?

Skeeter: My Purple Prose Pen?

Anonymous: That drivel it's spewing is making me sick at my stomach.

Skeeter: Sorry. [insincerely]

Purple Prose Pen: _[hesitates, then lays itself down demurely across the parchment, underscoring the words "Working closely together…very closely".]_

Skeeter: Still, you have to admit, Weasley's in a position where a lot of people would be tempted to stray. Her husband has cheated on her, she's in trouble with the law, and she's working hand in hand with a wealthy bachelor… someone who could provide protection from some of her problems.

Anonymous: But the idea of the two of them… it's… preposterous!

Skeeter: Tell me what's preposterous about it.

Anonymous: You'd really have to know the personalities involved. Malfoy is very, you know, he's a rabid Separatist, he'd shun her simply because she's got four Muggles in her grandparents' generation. And Weasley –

Skeeter: Since her grandfather was technically a squib, she's technically a halfblood. It was proven ages ago.

Anonymous: She _chooses_ to present herself as Muggle-born, and to align herself with pro-Muggle sentiments as a matter of policy. So even if she were to… ugh… well, he'd never consider it because of who she chooses to be.

Skeeter: Even if she were to what?

Anonymous: I can't believe I'm talking about this.

Skeeter: Go on, it's simply _fascinating._

Anonymous: [sighs] Very well. You see... Hermione Weasley is all about principles. She'd never cheat on her husband. At the very worst she'd divorce Ron Weasley first before going on to date the next wizard, and I'm not even convinced she'd do that. But it wouldn't be Malfoy in any case. He's a –

Skeeter: He's a what?

Anonymous: Well, he's been accused of many things. The accusations alone would be enough to deter anyone who is reasonably prudent. Particularly someone with Hermione Weasley's politics.

Skeeter: You mean pro-Muggle politics.

Anonymous: Pro-Muggle and anti-Ministry.

Skeeter: Anti-Ministry? Her own father-in-law is Director of Auror Affairs.

Anonymous: Arthur Weasley's not exactly known for his pro-Ministry sentiments either. How do you think he managed that appointment to Auror Affairs in the first place? The people don't want someone who's pro-Auror in that position. He was the best that could be hoped for among those already high up in the Ministry's employ.

Skeeter: [A rustling of papers] All right then, let's talk about the Death Eaters for a bit instead.

Anonymous: Ah, thank God!

Skeeter: You said Draco Malfoy is pro-Ministry. Are many Death Eaters actually pro-Ministry, then?

Anonymous: Many _suspected_ Death Eaters are, as well as some of those who have been convicted.

Skeeter: Is it meant to be protective coloration?

Anonymous: Oh no, I think they're quite sincere. In their day to day lives, their 'mild mannered alter egos' so to speak are often employed by the Ministry or active in political lobbying and other means of getting laws changed the usual way. It's just that they are also vigilantes… taking matters into their own hands in areas where the Ministry always seems to fall short.

Skeeter: In the areas of Muggle and Wizard separation.

Anonymous: Yes.

Skeeter: Who are their targets? Who are these Muggles you read about getting murdered in Death Eater raids?

Anonymous: Typically, the Death Eaters target Muggles who've been told about the Wizarding world in violation of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. They're trying to send out a message that if you tell your Muggle friends the truth about yourself, your friends will pay for your imprudence with their lives. Of course it goes without saying, if the witches and wizards who told those Muggles happen to get in the way, they'll kill them too.

Skeeter: This wasn't always the Death Eater mission, was it?

Anonymous: No. When You-Know-Who was alive, they functioned mainly as a sop to his ego. They did what he asked, gave him a sense of power over others and the ability to play god. Once You-Know-Who was eliminated by Harry Potter, the Death Eaters were forced to concentrate upon simple survival. That continued until the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was broken up.

Skeeter: At which point they all began to lead normal lives again.

Anonymous: Not all of them. The ones who'd escaped from Azkaban were still hunted, of course. But yes, those who'd been cleared in the war crimes trials were able to go about their business, and Auror Affairs made sure our hands were tied to prevent us from pursuing those ones seriously.

Skeeter: And then then over the intervening years the surviving Death Eaters developed this Separatist agenda.

Anonymous: Yes.

Skeeter: About how many Muggles would you say have been killed by Death Eaters in the last year?

Anonymous: More than we'd like. The Death Eaters are a real problem, one that won't be solved through normal measures.

Skeeter: Is there any way to protect these Muggles, the ones who know about Wizarding kind?

Anonymous: Yes… on occasion. Sometimes we manage to get there first and the Death Eaters call off the attack. They can tell, you know, they scout out the area beforehand, so if there are Aurors present that's usually enough to prevent anything from happening. But it's actually very difficult to identify the targets or even a body of potential targets in advance. In the vast majority of the cases we never knew they existed until the Dark Mark appears in the sky over their houses. That makes it very difficult to employ pre-emptive measures.

Skeeter: Why are they so difficult to identify?

Anonymous: The sorts of sorts of witches and wizards who've revealed themselves to these Muggles aren't exactly stand up citizens. Often times they're people who've chosen to live among Muggles because they prefer the contact of Muggles to that of their own kind. They don't really want the Ministry of Magic poking into their personal business. So they don't register the location of their houses, don't apply for licenses for Apparition and such, and in many cases attended no formal wizarding schooling. There may be no paper record of their existence at all. So you can see why trying to track how many Muggles they have revealed themselves to would be nearly impossible, at least through legal means.

Skeeter: I see.

Anonymous: What's ironic is that most of these witches and wizards are breaking dozens of our laws. Not only are they hiding their own identities, but they're giving Muggles enchanted artifacts, using their magical powers to cheat or extract profits from Muggles, and using magic to break Muggle laws. So we, the Ministry, are essentially stepping in to protect lawbreakers.

Skeeter: But the Death Eaters you're protecting them from are themselves criminals.

Anonymous: They're vigilantes.

Skeeter: Is there a difference?

Anonymous: Vigilantes step outside of the law to bring lawbreakers to justice when they believe the proper authorities are not doing the job. So they're still breaking the law, but their motivations are different, and they're generally a different psychological type.

Skeeter: But some Death Eaters kill Muggles because they're psychopaths. Not because they're forced to, or for any principle or political reason.

Anonymous. Yes.

Skeeter: As I understand it, the Death Eater organization has become more and more impervious to Auror interference in recent years, to the point where intelligence about their upcoming operations is nearly impossible to obtain.

Anonymous: That is correct.

Skeeter: Which is where Operation First Strike comes in.

Anonymous: Yes, it is.

Skeeter: Tell me about First Strike.

Anonymous: Well, we were able to identify specific individuals who are critical to the Death Eater operations, and single them out for special attention outside of the context of their raids. The idea is to increase pressure on them until they are forced to make themselves unavailable to the Death Eaters on their own.

Skeeter: But isn't it suicide to disobey Death Eater directives?

Anonymous: Not necessarily, not if they've agreed to being under our protection.

Skeeter: Has anyone agreed to this so far?

Anonymous: I wouldn't be able to tell you if anybody had, for their safety.

Skeeter: Oh… of course.

Anonymous: But the operation has only been in place for ten weeks or so. That isn't a lot of time on the scale of these things.

Skeeter: What sort of 'pressure' do you put on these individual Death Eaters?

Anonymous: There are many laws out there that get broken on a daily basis, that there simply aren't enough resources to enforce on a large scale.

Skeeter: Like the London airspeed laws.

Anonymous: Yes, and a whole host of others from Apparition to animal protection to petty registrations and licensing.

Skeeter: Ah, I think I see. Operation First Strike uses enforcement of these by the various miscellaneous Auroring departments to put the pressure on without having to have any proof they're Death Eaters.

Anonymous: Yes.. and not only the actual Death Eaters, but also people who have been helping them out either knowingly or unwittingly. By concentrating on laws we have proof people _have_ broken, we can start consuming their resources to the point where they have to decide whether they can continue to do what they're doing, or if they have to quit to get out from under the close scrutiny Operation First Strike brings.

Skeeter: Do I understand correctly that this techique allows you to get around the fact that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was disbanded?

Anonymous: Yes it does.

Skeeter: And the fact that the different departments all apparently investigate these people on their own initiative, to enforce laws that were actually broken, gets around the oversight process that would be required if the departments were officially working hand in hand?

Anonymous: Yes.

Skeeter: I see. Does that bother you at all? It violates the spirit of the disbandment of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, doesn't it?

Anonymous: It doesn't bother me.

Skeeter: Is Draco Malfoy a target of Operation First Strike?

Anonymous: [doesn't answer]

Skeeter: Is Hermione Weasley?

Anonymous: [doesn't answer]

Skeeter: Johnson called Draco Malfoy "slippery". What do you think he meant by that?

Anonymous: It's easy to forget that just because a person is a bigot, he isn't necessarily stupid. Malfoy is a good deal more clever than a lot of people realize, and he's also quite creative by nature. That creativity allows him to think his way out of, or playact his way out of, situations that look like they ought to be inescapable.

Skeeter: Is that what drives Nesbitt to pursue him? That ability to keep winning free and coming out with reputation more or less intact?

Anonymous: Originally it started with his father, with Lucius Malfoy. Nesbitt worked for many years to prove Lucius' Death Eater connection and get him jailed in Azkaban for life. He was furious when Lucius got off with only a 25 year sentence. Do you realize, by the way, that that sentence will be over in a very short time?

Skeeter: A matter of months, I believe.

Anonymous: Yes, it's worth keeping in mind.

Skeeter: So Lucius went to Azkaban, but Nesbitt was still dissatisfied – and then Draco took over the family business as it were. For a brief time at the beginning of the war, he was definitely a Death Eater – and took his father's place in Nesbitt's mind.

Anonymous: And it's ironic really because it's the last thing Lucius himself would have wanted. He'd made an effort to keep his son safe, and innocent of any Death Eater connection. It wasn't until Lucius was out of the way in Azkaban that the Death Eaters were able to move in on Draco. And then, of course, at that point Draco's ignorance made him the perfect recruit.

Skeeter: Because he wanted to join but had no clue what he'd be in for if he did.

Anonymous: Precisely.

Skeeter: Has Draco Malfoy done the same with his own son, then? Is Salazar as without solid information on the Death Eaters as Draco was himself at that age?

Anonymous: It does seem Draco has gone out of his way to protect his children from that sort of thing, yes. But what parent wouldn't?

Purple Prose Pen: _What parent, indeed._

* * *

Got comments on Blood of Mud, Wing of Bat? Please review!


	45. No Exceptions

Chapter 45: No Exceptions

-----

Perhaps because of Nesbitt's portrayal of a 'birthday party full of rambunctious young children', Hermione had half expected that the Death Eaters would be invading a bright house full of laughing people. But of course it was 3:15AM – everybody would be asleep. And after all of the buildup back at the Death Eaters' launch point Hermione had been braced to witness a battle, but instead all was dark and quiet.

Malfoy's Portkey had taken him to a garden in a residential neighborhood, outdoors under a chilly night mist. Hermione recognized the target house from the wizard-photo back at the raid launch point. She could only assume that the rest of the Death Eaters had been transported directly inside.

Malfoy made no move to try to enter the house himself, but instead stepped carefully around its perimeter, watching and listening. Hermione realized that acting as lookout during the raid must be one of his scouting responsibilities. An alert lookout could give an early warning if Aurors appeared, or get rid of any Muggle who might happen to wander into the garden by mistake. There'd be no reason for a Muggle to come by on purpose, because the Death Eaters' wards would prevent any sound or light from escaping, making the house seem just like any other house. Nobody would realize something awful was happening inside.

But something _was_ happening.

Hermione's fly body felt the raw expenditure of magic in the area like a swelling pressure, an unnerving build-up of static prickling every hair. She didn't doubt Malfoy could sense it faintly too, but a wizard wouldn't be able to feel it as keenly as an animal would.

And now some physical evidence of what was passing inside began to make itself known as well. A meat-fly, a carrion-eater, could not fail to know when fear and torture and death had occurred nearby. Their myriad scents were a powerful stimulus and attractant, things that in daytime would draw a true meat-fly to its scavenging duties from many meters away. Hermione could sense hundreds of additional people as well, populating not just the house but the entire surrouding area and other houses, by the subtle scents and noises of their existence. She'd never put this ability to the test in terms of trying to keep track of large numbers of specific people at once, but for the first time she considered just how helpful such a skill would be on a raid like this. A Death Eater who could become a small creature with an excellent sense of smell, and who took the time to really train that ability, would be a potent weapon in their arsenal. No wonder Malfoy feared being replaced by an Animagus scout!

Once Malfoy had completed a circuit around the house, with all remaining still and silent, he stopped at the side stair and eased himself down onto a step to take the weight off of his feet. But he appeared poised for action anyway, his wand still in hand and his weirdly glowing eyes clearly alert for trouble as he waited for them to be finished inside.

Two huge brown birds passed overhead, silently winging their way westward in formation.

----

Hermione knew that the Aurors were unable to predict the targets of Death Eater raids and that meant she was now in a very unique position. Not only did she know the exact location of a raid in progress, but nobody knew she was there. That meant if she could find a way to get that information to Aurors right away, this raid could be interrupted with potentially a dozen Death Eaters captured and Muggle lives spared.

Her mind raced as she weighed her options.

The No-Fly-Zone Malfoy had requested in the yard would have been intended to slow the arrival of broom-mounted Aurors, or the escape of any broom-owning witches or wizards who might be among the raid victims. But such a ward would also prevent Hermione from flying away. If she wanted to leave anytime soon, she'd first have to run to the ward's boundary on foot.

Once away, she'd have to be crazy to use any form of transportation that would leave a permanent record tying her to this crime scene. That ruled out both Apparition and Floo. Her best bet would be to fly straight to the nearest public owl facility and hire one to carry a note to the Aurors' anonymous tips staff. So which one was the nearest?

----

If a window had broken, or a door opened, the Death Eaters' wards would have blocked the sound.

Therefore, the first indication that someone had escaped the target house was the muffled thud of feet on wet grass.

In the next moment, a Muggle man in striped pyjamas and bare feet came pelting around the corner of the house and past them at a dead run, making for the rear garden. The wards on the house had prevented the man from spotting Malfoy lurking perfectly still there on the stairs.

"Oh no you don't," muttered the wizard, jumping to his feet and raising his wand. He aimed, but the Muggle crashed sideways through a bush and abruptly vanished.

Malfoy's wand tip flicked upward in surprise. Hermione realized there must be a third gate in the wall behind the hedge, one Malfoy had not noted down in his survey. That Muggle had just escaped to whatever was on the other side. After a moment's indecision Malfoy growled low under his breath and stepped away from the house and the protections of its wards. He glanced briefly skyward, searching for something, but Hermione could see nothing.

_Did he suspect those two birds were patrolling Aurors?_

Holding his wand ready he began to advance quickly across the lawn toward the spot where the Muggle had disappeared, his footfalls held as soft as he could make them. Hermione could hear him counting under his breath. _The seconds,_ she realized. In case he needed to go back in time to prevent this.

Even as he was doing so, she was quickly planning her own next action. So long as he carried her toward the boundary of the No-Fly Zone, she was better off remaining astride. But the moment he passed it, she had to be ready to take off and sprint for the nearest public owlery. The one near the Cambury Fairgrounds was nearest, and she could only hope there'd be owls present at this hour.

Then Malfoy swore and lurched to a halt just short of the hedge, and at the same time the Muggle started waving his arms and yelling out in the street, now clearly visible. If those pelicans had really been Aurors their attention was surely going to be drawn by that! And now the Muggle was running up to a door of a house across the street and pounding on it for good measure.

Only a sharpshooter could have hit anybody with a curse at this distance and in the dark, and Hermione knew it even before Malfoy extended his arm and fired.

"_Missilis Cerastes!_"

A jet of white fire erupted from his wand and veered hissing across the intervening space, seeking the heat from the Muggle's body. It was a near-miss, striking the front wall of the house to shatter its windows in a fiery blast and sending the Muggle diving for cover. But already there were voices in the air… the trouble had indeed been spotted by an Auror patrol, and a couple of men on broomsticks had already flown into view.

Meanwhile, Hermione had discovered what had stopped Malfoy in his tracks: Illuminated in the flames rising from the missile-struck house, a glowing rune marked the ground near the boundary of the garden – a wizard-trap, designed to prevent non-Muggles from passing to and fro. It had probably been laid by the home's wizarding residents to prevent tresspass by their own kind without drawing Muggle suspicions. Disarming it would take time – assuming one had the skill to do so, which Hermione figured she probably did – but of course she'd have to be in her human form to do it.

And now more Aurors were arriving, by Apparition and by floo. The speed with which they were descending upon the scene was astonishing; they'd clearly had teams waiting only for a signal as to where to go. In no time there were two dozen in view and more on the way. One pair of ickle-aurors had already charged the house only to be struck down stunned by the wizard-trap at the boundary, proof enough that it'd be near-fatal to attempt it as a fly.

Hermione felt a wrench of indecision as Malfoy backpedaled toward the house. She couldn't just jump headlong off him and try to cross the barrier; she might be throwing away her life for nothing. Nor could she hide somewhere on the property, because she might well be found if the Aurors performed a thorough search, and how would she explain that? Being on Malfoy's person for much longer was not likely to turn out well either however. He was about to get shot up by dozens of Aurors!

Malfoy seemed to be having his own moment of indecision. She could hear the panic in his breaths as he made it back to the Death Eater wards near the house, then watched the unfolding drama with increasing agitation. More Aurors were plummeting out of the sky at every moment. Four had already crashed their brooms in the front and side gardens, upon discovering the no-fly zones. But many more were massing on the street, and now more senior Aurors were arriving to take command. It was, to be sure, a complete disaster for the Death Eaters.

Malfoy raised his wand decisively and flicked his wrist to bring the Time Turner to his fingertips. Hermione braced herself, expecting only a time shift, but this time it was immediately followed by an Apparition as well.

------

An explosion of noise and a barrage of olfactory and visual data.

The Death Eaters had rounded up all the Muggles and had assembled them in the front room for slaughter. The air was filled with tortured screams and the thrashings of bodies. Stunned, Hermione could only watch as Death Eater spells smacked into human flesh and smoke and flying sparks sizzled through the room. A stray bolt like lightning came straight at them and only missed by a handsbreadth.

And then the Muggle wearing the striped pyjamas lunged up from the pile of struggling forms and bolted through a doorway across the room. They had gone back in time to just before the Muggle had begun his bid to escape!

Malfoy leaped forward with a grunt of effort. He cleared a pile of tangled forms nimbly and put on a burst of speed, his eyes shining with an unholy intensity – and without warning, he Apparated again.

Hermione staggered as the brutal squeeze of the second Apparition caught her by surprise, followed by an abrupt reAppearance directly behind the escaping Muggle.

She realized that Malfoy must have gone back in time again just as he Apparated the second time, to make up a couple of moments and catch the Muggle before he could get to the window. To be able to go back with such precision, while in motion, and Apparate with the other hand, showed a mastery of the Time Turner that spoke of far too many uses.

_I've got to get that Time Turner away from him._

The man was moving fast, but Malfoy had enough momentum that he was able to tackle him from behind anyway, his arm snaking around the man's neck. Their collision rocked Hermione back on her rump, all six claws clinging, before she managed to leap into the air to avoid getting squashed.

At this point, several things went wrong simultaneously. The Muggle twisted madly and managed to seize Malfoy and throw him off just as the wizard cast Avada Kedavra. That awful green flash temporarily blinded Hermione at the very moment she discovered to her horror that the no-fly zone outside the house must include the _inside_ as well – now that she was in the air, she fell like a rock. She bounced off someone's knee, managed to grab on with one claw before cloth brushed over her and ripped her free again. The next thing she hit was the floor, with their feet thudding down on all sides of her.

The tables had been reversed. The Muggle had a firm grip on Malfoy and was grabbing wildly for the wand, and he clearly had the longer reach. They staggered in a circle as Malfoy tried desperately to wrest himself out of the trap before the Muggle could do him damage. Hermione got up and ran like hell, trying to get out of their way. But no matter which direction she ran, they seemed to come after her; the Muggle was trying to drive Malfoy back toward the door, presumably so he could lock him out and make it to the window and safety, while Malfoy kept dragging him in a circle trying to free himself. Then something wooden clattered to the floor nearly on top of Hermione. It was the wand! The Muggle had succeeded in slapping it out of Malfoy's hand.

Dimly Hermione was aware that they were shouting at each other, their voices made nearly unintelligible by the din just outside the room and the distortion of desperation. The Muggle seemed to be screaming something like "I'm gonna kill you!" over and over while Malfoy kept repeating, "Get off me!" Then the Muggle grabbed Malfoy squarely with both hands and drove him backward into a notch between a desk and a bookshelf, preventing him from doing any more circling. Malfoy snatched up something from the desk and hurled it at the Muggle's face point-blank just as the Muggle let go of him with one hand to take a swing. It was only a pad of notepaper, but it threw off the Muggle's aim for the first punch. It was quickly followed by a paperweight, a book, and a jar full of pens and pencils. Writing implements flew in all directions as the jar bounced off the Muggle's head. The Muggle kept punching him wildly, over and over, most of the blows landing where Malfoy had at least partial protection from the body armor. Then the corner of a small book hit the Muggle directly in the eye, causing him to stagger back with an oath. He still had one hand on Malfoy but this proved a liability rather than an advantage as Malfoy followed through by charging him and attempting to knee him in the groin. The Muggle released him with a yell.

Malfoy lost no time in putting himself between the Muggle and the escape route to the window, even as he scanned the floor wildly for the wand. Hermione knew that if Malfoy could get his hands on that again, the Muggle wouldn't get a second chance. Evidently the Muggle realized this too, because he swore and started looking for it too. But by now the floor was now littered with pens and pencils from the desk. These got kicked in all directions as the two men hunted with increasing desperation for the elusive bit of magic wood.

_This is my chance,_ Hermione realized. If she transformed into her human form right now, with wand in hand, she could catch Malfoy off guard and stun him allowing the Muggle to escape! But her position was entirely wrong, being behind the Muggle with Malfoy on the other side. She started running back in their direction, trying frantically to remember whether she had put her wand in her right or left robe pocket before transforming. Or was it in her sleeve? When had she last been in her human form anyway?

"Ha," said Malfoy triumphantly, having spotted his wand at last. It was on the floor directly behind the Muggle's feet! His right hand came up, the Time Turner spinning and spinning between his fingers, and then he abruptly vanished.

Almost simultaneously, a closet door behind the Muggle burst open and Malfoy plowed out of it, ducking to snatch the wand off the floor from behind the Muggle then scramble back away again. His trailing robe swept Hermione off the floor, tumbling her over and over underneath it before she sprawled into a dusty corner. By the time she got her bearings, Malfoy had faded away a second time, this time due to a soft Apparition.

Reeling, Hermione realized Malfoy must have gone back in time long enough to secrete himself in the closet before the Muggle had run into the room. It wasn't ideal, since it didn't let him prevent the fistfight, but it hadn't required a very precise time shift either. And now he'd strike the killing blow.

A critical moment was wasted as the Muggle tried to figure out where Malfoy had gone now. Then determination set his features. He turned back to the window and threw it open. Just as he got a leg up, Malfoy reappeared silently behind him and lunged at his back, pinning him awkwardly against the window-frame. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't perfect, but in that flailing moment of impact, Malfoy's arm locked around the man's neck and the wand jabbed into the man's back. A bright green flash marked a second use of Avada Kedavra and this time, it couldn't miss.

Instantly the Muggle was dead, the fight and his flight for freedom abruptly and permanently ended.

_My god,_ thought Hermione, as the Muggle slipped out of the window and toppled backward toward the floor contorted in death. Malfoy spun away from the corpse, neatly avoiding getting entangled with its fall. Even before he'd finished his turn, he'd vanished again, the _bang_ of a normal Apparition nearly drowned out by the sounds of the brawl in the other room.

_My god,_ she thought desperately, as the Muggle's body slammed down, limbs sprawled haphazardly.

And then she realized that she had lost him, she had gotten separated from Malfoy.

---

The enormity of what had just happen continued to grow, even as she tried to think what to do. If she changed into human form she'd both place herself at the scene of the crimes and make herself perfectly visible to the 20 Death Eaters in the other room. Even if she made it out alive, Malfoy would have another chance to stop her before she left the yard, like he had the Muggle. And even if she got past him too, there was that wizardtrap ward on the property boundary.

But since Malfoy had prevented the Muggle's escape, the Aurors once again had no idea there was a raid in progress in this house. That meant the only way they could possibly find out would be if she herself informed them. Meanwhile, the seconds were ticking past and the entire raid would be over quickly. In another couple of minutes it'd be too late to do anything at all.

_Get a hold of yourself,_ Hermione thought fiercely. _You have to think your way out of this._ After all, she wouldn't be able to save anybody else if she couldn't save herself first.

The first step was clearly to get out of the house, and to do it while still in fly form. She couldn't fight 20 Death Eaters at once if she was spotted in her human shape, nor could she Apparate out through Death Eater-specific Apparition wards.

Grimly she started running along the floor to the still-open window, then up the wall and out over the sill. Once outside she continued on the house's siding, feeling it was taking far, far too long. Even now she felt the use of magic beginning to ebb, suggesting the end to the raid was near.

But when she found Malfoy kneeling on the ground by the steps, head down, his breath was still coming painfully hard. He was bracing himself against the steps with his right hand, his wand hand curled against his chest. In reality only seconds had passed since he'd Apparated from the room, and he'd probably used the intervening time to check the perimeter once again just in case.

It took many seconds longer, though, for him to regain his composure. It would have been easy to kill or capture him now, when his concentration was fully on himself and his attempt to recover from the fight. It wasn't happening quickly. His eyes weren't on his surroundings, his wand not at the ready. But even if Hermione thought she could take him, she didn't think she'd get as lucky as she had that first time without advance planning.

_But I'll have to,_ she realized. _I'll have to do something. He can't be allowed to keep doing this._

But what could she do? She couldn't make it past the boundary of the garden, and the magic-usage inside had finally drawn down to nearly nothing, signifying that the raid was over. Malfoy, too, seemed to be aware that it was time to move. He glanced at his watch and seemed to pull himself together, rising to his feet a little more heavily than before, but his eyes still shining with at least half of the original intensity of before, eerie and awful.

It took an act of sheer will for Hermione to force herself to climb onto the edge of his robe and make it back up to his shoulder, so that she could bear witness to what would happen next.

-----

The living room contained an appalling and grisly sight – more than a dozen bodies lying burnt and mutilated in various heaps and positions. There was blood everywhere. And not all of them were dead -- sobbing and stifled noises came from among the fallen.

Malfoy began to step carefully between the bodies, bending over one and then another and examining them briefly. Hermione realized he must be checking to see if they were dead. _Total elimination, no exceptions._

"Help me," whispered a voice. The third body wasn't dead. It was a woman who'd been deformed by a dozen different torturous jinxes. Tears streaked her beaten face. _"Please help me."_

Malfoy's eyes shone down at her with that unholy light. "Turn over, Muggle," he demanded. His voice should have been hoarse and panting, but it was not. Instead, in that moment, it was lazy and imperious and uncannily like his father's.

"Oh god…. please," begged the woman.

"I said _turn over,_" he snarled. He ducked in to snatch at her nightdress with his free hand, trying to drag her over onto her front without touching any more of her than he had to. She rocked but did not tip over and he stepped away again, circling her with light steps.

_He's going to AK her in the back,_ Hermione knew with a sudden, horrible certainty.

_"Please,"_ whispered the woman urgently.

Malfoy darted in from the other side, this time planting his foot on her shoulder and pushing her all the way over. Then he pointed his wand at her back.

"Please no!" shrieked the woman, and they were her final words. There was an awful green flash and she too was dead.

-----

Hermione didn't want to think Nesbitt was right. But absolutely nothing she had seen here so far contradicted him. Malfoy did scout for the raids, and he did make critical decisions regarding them. He did kill innocent Muggles by AKing them in the back. He was the first one in, and the last one out. She didn't doubt but that she'd soon see him send up the Dark Mark as well.

It was one thing to pretend Danager had died of a heart attack or that Malfoy had killed the Muggle in the striped pyjamas out of self-defense. But this! This was the cold-blooded murder of helpless innocents, for no reason at all other than that's what his orders had said to do.

-----

There were two others still alive in the heap of bodies, and a fourth in one of the back rooms. Malfoy dispatched each of them in the same manner, turning them over first before AKing them in the back. None of these was able to speak to him and their murder was accomplished with a grim silence. The process would have seemed almost mechanical except that he handled each one with the same physical diffidence with which he'd handled the first, as if forcing himself to touch them were the most difficult part of the whole sordid process.

After making sure all of the Muggles were dead Malfoy returned to the living room and leaned against one of the window-frames, peering through the slit between cloth and glass at the street outside.

Hermione wondered if it was even possible to know regret or remorse or horror while under the influence of those combat drugs; through the hazy white gleam of their dying glow, his eyes seemed to hold some some bizarre mix of dazed ferocity that said more about the muddled effects of the fading potions than it said about his actual feelings at the moment.

But she shouldn't kid herself – she could remember all too well the look she'd seen in his eyes at Ernie's Café: completely and utterly without soul. Malfoy was no longer the terrified boy he'd been in their sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts, the one who – according to Harry Potter – hadn't quite managed to kill anybody despite his best efforts. Somehow in the years since, Malfoy had learned how to commit these atrocities and survive it. And what did it matter if he couldn't look them in the face when he did it? It was still killing whether it was done from in front or behind.

And he was so careful. None of the Death Eaters had witnessed these murders, nor could any of them easily prove what had happened to Danager. It was no wonder the Ministry was having difficulty coming up with solid evidence against him!

At this moment, Hermione wanted nothing more than to end it now, to catch him by surprise and strike him down so that no Muggles would ever have to die by his hand again. But he still had his wand, and he was wearing body armor and thick robes that stood a good chance of absorbing or foiling a first or second curse. The room was quite silent now, giving him an excellent chance to hear her coming. And that potion he'd drunk may have passed its peak, but it'd still be affecting him for hours to come. St. James had said as much. While that was the case his senses and his reflexes would far surpass her own in her human form.

But she couldn't stand by and do nothing. She had to end this, to make sure he never did it again. She'd just have to be intelligent about it. She would plan carefully, leaving nothing to chance. She'd wait until Malfoy was incapacitated, asleep or drunk or maybe she'd lay a trap that would bespell him. And then, like Nesbitt, she'd strike when he was unconscious or otherwise unable to defend himself properly and where there would be no witnesses. It was the only way.

-----

Malfoy glanced at his watch one last time, then pushed himself away from the wall.

"Let's do this," he muttered to himself, and raised his wand for Apparition. Hermione braced herself and endured a prolonged, awful Soft Apparition as they silently rematerialized outdoors, on the house's front lawn.

There were no Aurors facing them across the broad dark expanse of the grass. There was no one at all. Not yet. They would not even know anything had happened until the skull and snake appeared in the sky above the house. After all, Special Ops thought they had Malfoy safely tied up in interrogation in St. Mungo's courtyard. And how could Cov Ops be expected to uncover any raid plans in advance, when not even the Death Eaters themselves knew them?

Malfoy thrust his hand into his pocket and came up with the remaining one-shot. He turned it over briefly in his hand, looking down at it. Then he muttered what sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

It would be so easy for the one-shot not to work. Let him displease the power that provided the devices, be it the Inner Circle or Voldemort Himself, and all that would have to happen was for the one-shot not to work to leave Malfoy stranded at the scene of the crime and ripe for the Aurors' picking. With seeming reluctance he placed it back in his pocket. Of course he had no choice but to trust it'd work.

He then aimed his wand skyward and muttered, "Morsmorde!". With a crack like lightning, the Dark Mark shot up from his wand and into the sky, bathing the entire block in a ghastly glow.

Hermione thought he'd squeeze the portkey immediately once the dark mark went up, but instead he waited, tucked into the wards on the house, and watched the Aurors begin to arrive.

As before, they came in droves, darting down on broomsticks and popping in via Apparition. Hermione could see their faces in the light of the skull and snake – they looked young and very frightened. Ickle-Aurors. In another few moments, they would have enough numbers and enough heavy-weight leadership present to attack the wards and then charge the house. It was time for Malfoy to leave.

But even now Malfoy lingered a moment longer, squinting across the dark expanse of the grass at the Aurors massing across the street. And then he made a noise deep in his throat, like a growl, and Hermione recognized Pansy among the arrivals, and at her side was Ginny. They both looked grim and determined despite their fear.

Only then did Malfoy thrust his hand into the pocket of his robes and squeeze the final one-shot.

And his god, at least this time, was merciful.

----

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	46. Pawn Game

Chapter 46: Pawn Game

* * *

And then they were back at the Death Eater launch point. Now the air in the chamber was thick with the heat of sweating bodies and the panting of breaths. The stenches of ozone and sulfur, bodies dead and alive, and scorched cloth would have been horrific and overwhelming in Hermione's human form, but in her fly form they were only a distraction.

The other Death Eaters were all clustered together near the table, making use of the towels and water and supplies there, and Malfoy had to shove between them to find the place where he could get rid of his portkeys and wand. As before, they hushed dramatically as they realized he'd returned, but this time it wasn't a complete silence. Not by far.

And this time there was a body on the floor nearby, one robed in a Death Eater's robes and without any sign of damage – aside from being dead of course.

The name "Danager" was audible over and over again among the whispers, and they kept glancing back in Malfoy's direction.

Malfoy unloaded his remaining Death Eater items into their hollows on the table, making the collection complete. The moment the last object fell into place, everything vanished in identical puffs of smoke.

Death Eater security. If something was not returned, and its loss was not authorized, all would be able to see.

Malfoy didn't seem to want to stay among the others long enough to make use of the amenities on the table. He half-glanced down at the body, but his eyes slid away before making contact. He hurried past it on a beeline to the statue of Voldemort.

* * *

Since Hermione had last seen it, the statue had been defaced by blood smeared all over its outspread hands. Hermione realized it must be blood from the Muggles who had been killed by the Death Eaters a short time before.

Malfoy passed his hands through the air over the statue's, symbolizing the wiping off of gore onto them the way the others must have done literally. Then he knelt and kissed its feet, supporting himself against its base. His own hands, Hermione saw now, were trembling. It was easy to see when they were spread pale against the dark stone. She wondered if he did feel anything of the horror of what he'd done, or if it was a simple physical reaction to the exertion of the fighting, a release from the danger of the raid. Or maybe nerves at the upcoming confrontation with the others about what'd happened to Danager.

For it did seem they were waiting for him to be finished. Clustered around the table, they stared at him with a malevolence that was difficult to miss. A couple of them looked as if they wanted to curse him from behind as he knelt there, and yet nobody dared. Maybe because the surrogates made a clean kill impossible, or maybe because they could never quite be sure he didn't carry a hidden wand to defend himself. Or perhaps he really did have powerful protection from either Voldemort or the Inner Circle, and attacking him that near to the statue was foolish.

Malfoy picked up one of the candles that was still unlit and held it to one of the others until it caught, then placed it near to the statue's feet. Hermione could hear the Death Eaters breathing as he hesitated, and then picked up the candle again and placed it a little nearer. Then he adjusted a couple other candles.

"Enough!" snapped somebody, causing all present to jump. Malfoy darted reflexively to his feet. Once he was there, he had no choice but to turn and reluctantly face them across a stretch of floor. The body of Danager lay between them.

"Well?" demanded someone else. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "About what?" he snapped back.

Their postures, theire relative positions, made it clear Danager was going to be the subject of discussion. Even Hermione could see that. But Malfoy was going to make someone say it aloud. Based on their discussion before the raid, Hermione knew many of them feared being caught in a one-on-one duel with Malfoy if they accused him and everybody else failed to support the accusation. She was pretty sure Malfoy was hoping nobody would dare open their mouth now. It had probably worked in the past.

"You killed Danager," said a third Death Eater at last, his voice accusatory. "Don't bother trying to deny it."

Now that it was finally out in the air, the group of Death Eaters firmed up their stances, sure in their having been wronged. The gamble had paid off; the one who'd spoken did have the others' support. There wouldn't be any way Malfoy could duel or intimidate his way out of this now. Malfoy's pale eyes flicked over them, and Hermione could see him coming to the same conclusion.

"It wasn't my idea," said Malfoy at last. He was going for belligerent, but he sounded defensive. Damage control was likely to be the goal now.

"No, you couldn't afford for it to be your idea, could you?" demanded a Death Eater.

"I don't see why you're all so surprised," snarled Malfoy. "He did try to hex me last week. And during a raid no less. And then he had the gall to claim it was an accident!"

"Oh, I'm sure he wasn't trying to hit you on _purpose,_" began Amexia Brandt.

Hermione felt gut-level that the fellow probably had been trying. Who wouldn't try to kill Malfoy, given what appeared to be a clear opportunity?

"He _did_ hit me," said Malfoy. "Or would have, if I hadn't heard it coming and gotten off a Deflecto."

"But –"

"You people really ought to care more for my well-being," said Malfoy. "If it wasn't for me – "

"Once we have an animagus, the Dark Lord won't need you anymore," said a Death Eater. "And Wilcox and Stanleigh are both on the verge of figuring out how."

Hermione realized that the business with the Animagus scouts really was the Death Eaters' plan to eliminate their dependance on him. It knocked him back on his heels this time, just as it had when Amexia had mentioned it before. It must have a fair chance of succeeding, because he clearly took the threat seriously.

"If they say they're close, they're lying," said Malfoy at last. He sounded distraught. "You can't finish it learning out of a book. Another Animagus has to show you the rest. Why do you think they want them all registered? And you'll never find one willing to help Death Eaters."

"How do you know we haven't _got_ another one teaching them already?" said Brandt. "You should watch your step, Malfoy. You're going to need us a lot more than we need you, soon."

"If they were stupid enough to tell _you_ they were trying to learn it, that proves they haven't a teacher," retorted Malfoy. "You're all bluffing!"

* * *

For the first time, Hermione wondered how much Malfoy had learned about Animagi from Rita Skeeter herself. Had he only been a tool of convenience for her, helping her get to where she could spy on Harry Potter and his friends, or had she actually tried to teach him the transformation?

Just from some of the comments he'd said tonight Hermione was pretty sure he'd at least attempted to study it on his own. _Y__ou can't finish learning it out of a book_ was a hard lesson, one that Hermione herself hadn't believed could really be true until she'd tried to learn it on her own. Before Rita Skeeter had come to Hogwarts, and finally provided her with the missing link.

And having received some instruction from Skeeter might explain why Malfoy had never betrayed Skeeter's secret to the Ministry, despite having had plenty of reason to do so. That scandalous piece about Malfoy and Amexia Brandt the Daily Prophet had printed last spring was only the most recent of several disastrous articles Skeeter had written about him over the years. If none of those had driven him to betray her, Hermione figured, nothing would.

Of course, if he were an Animagus himself, he shouldn't have to fear being replaced by those other Death Eaters in his job. Presumably the other Death Eaters would know if he was one, because of the Memoralias Charm. That they didn't was an argument against that idea. Not that it mattered much either way; if Skeeter were captured and forced to reveal the names of every student she'd ever had, he was in trouble whether he'd ever succeeded in the actual transformation or not. It was difficult to prove oneself _incapable_ of a bit of magic, as Malfoy had discovered in St. Mungo's courtyard at Nesbitt's hands.

* * *

"Did you have Special Instructions then?" demanded one of the Death Eaters surrounding Malfoy. "Let's see them."

"I'm not going to show you my instructions," said Malfoy, and Hermione thought that such showing must be taboo. It fit with the rest of the Death Eater security precautions that nobody should know one another's plans.

"Oh yes you are," said one of the others. They shifted towards him, all of them, fists tightening and solidarity among them once again. Malfoy managed to avoid giving ground, but glanced nervously back at the statue in apparent hope for a rescue that did not seem to be in the offing.

"All right," he said at last. "I'll show you, but only because you insist. We're not to be showing each other our assignments."

They waited impatiently while Malfoy tried to find the card. Nerves seemed to have affected his memory. Either that, or he was trying to postpone the inevitable as long as possible by fumbling in every pocket in his robes.

Finally, reluctantly, he drew forth the card the statue had given him. He held it out on his hand, message side up, and the others crowded in to see.

There was a moment of silence and intaken breath.

Then the card writhed on Malfoy's palm and turned into a poisonous black asp. Malfoy gasped and dropped it, and everybody jumped back and scrambled to get clear. Mutters of "Jesus," and "get out of the way" and the hasty shuffling of feet accompanied the snake's exit through a hole low along one of the walls.

"Did you see, did anyone see, did it say?" demanded one of them.

"I saw it," said another.

"I saw it too," said someone else. "Special Instructions: Danager."

"I told you," said Malfoy, scrubbing one palm with the other and staring after the snake with a white-rimmed cast to his eyes.

That simple trick, the card turning into the snake, could have been done any number of ways using ordinary magic. But the fact that it appeared to have been done by Voldemort instead clearly struck to the core of these people's fears, putting the religion into them.

Malfoy in particular seemed shaken up by the event. After the others let him alone he retreated to the statue of Voldemort-as-serpent and lurked there, arranging a few extra candles closer to the statue's feet. Hermione decided he did believe in Voldemort. Maybe the many years he'd spent working for Supernatural Relations had made him credulous about such matters, or maybe it was just one more example of the addled beliefs growing up in a pureblood family had lent him. Like luck from rainbows, or the value of palm-readings.

_Or the inferiority of Muggles, _she thought, feeling a growing rage and frustration.

* * *

She would no longer be able to limit herself to business ethics and matters of Batwing and Trelawney. Not now. Now that she'd seen exactly what Malfoy was and what he did, she could not stand by and allow it to continue happening. And that, she found, made her angry. Deeply and powerfully angry in a way that she had been feeling a lot lately, ever since accepting this assignment.

Moreover, she couldn't even give in to impulse and take Malfoy himself down quickly, no matter how much she might like to. Because this situation of her having a way into the Death Eater raids without anybody's knowledge could not be squandered. She and she alone had the power to end these raids forever, if she could figure out how. And it was her moral obligation to do so.

And whether she liked it or not, Malfoy was her unwitting ticket in. She had to keep him alive and free until she was done.

* * *

The rest of the Death Eaters left one by one, until finally only Amexia Brandt remained.

Brandt walked over to stand next to where Malfoy was still kneeling. She pulled off her glove and her hand - tiny and clean and impeccably manicured - came to rest on his shoulder. This time, unlike before, it was done gently.

"They're gone," she said. Her voice was different now too, more caring.

Hermione's skin crawled.

Brandt came between Malfoy and the statue again, this time quite deliberately, and knelt down before him. Her hand caressed the side of his face, her pristine curves accentuating the stark elegance of his jawline below the mask.

"You look tired," she said. And it was true – his mouth was drawn, his pale eyes glazed with exhaustion. The demonic slits of his mask made them look smoky and sullen instead, but now that Brandt had said it Hermione could see it too. "You should go home," said Amexia Brandt. "Get some sleep."

"I've things to do yet this morning," he said. "Things that can't be put off."

She leaned forward and kissed him once, gently, on the lips. "You've been working too hard," she said. "You're not made for this. You'll drive yourself to collapse if you're not careful."

"I've done what I had to before," said Malfoy. "When I've had no other choice."

"If you say so," said Amexia. She ran her hands down his black-robed arms, and took his hands in hers. Their hands fitted together perfectly, matched in both proportion and elegance. Unlike his, hers were not covered with battle scars. But somehow Hermione had a feeling that that didn't make Brandt any more innocent than coming back from the raid without literal blood on his hands made Malfoy.

Brandt leaned forward and tried to kiss him again, but this time Malfoy didn't let her.

"In any case you aren't permitted to care if I do," said Malfoy primly, "as we are no longer an item. Or had you forgotten?" He tugged at his hands, freeing his right easily, but he couldn't pull so hard with his left. Not without hurting himself. When she didn't immediately let him go, he let her keep that hand. But his face was turned away, a clear signal that he no longer wished to be near her.

"Rumor has it that is soon to change," said Amexia, squeezing his hand in both of hers. "We're to be together again."

"So you've heard those rumors too," said Malfoy sourly.

"Several times," she admitted. "I've even heard you're building up Batwing just for me."

Malfoy snorted out a laugh. His eyes were on the far side of the room, avoiding the witch clutching his hand. "The rumormongers grow more delusional every day," he said roughly.

Brandt looked somewhat crestfallen at this. "I wouldn't mind," she said after a moment, "if the Circle ordered us together indefinitely."

"Then it's a pity I'm unavailable, isn't it?" said Malfoy. This time he did jerk his left hand free, then climbed awkwardly to his feet. It was clear the physical abuse of the raid had caught up to him, for he moved extremely stiffly. Before, the weight of the heavy combat robes had only made him less graceful and more lunging and aggressive. Now they seemed to bow him down.

"Yes you are available, whether you want to be or not," said Brandt. But he was already turning away toward the shelves of Portkeys. There were only two left, his and another that was probably Brandt's. "You'll have no choice if they order it!" she exclaimed, following after. Hermione wondered if Brandt was actually in love with Malfoy, or if she just wanted his money like all those others. She wondered what kind of person could want either love _or_ money from a wizard who'd just murdered someone she knew in cold blood.

Malfoy shot her a dirty look. "Why don't you try seducing Wilcox or Stanleigh instead?" he suggested. "Sounds like they've been coming up in the world lately, and they may even still have some illusions about you."

He snatched up his one-shot and squeezed it, but nothing happened.

"He doesn't want you to leave yet," said Amexia, glancing back at the statue. "See? He _wants_ us together."

Malfoy placed the bronze sphere back in its bowl, his expression grim.

"You'll have to contribute _something_ once they take over the scouting," said Amexia reasonably. "You wouldn't want to lose your usefulness entirely would, you? It's certain death."

"I won't," said Malfoy shortly.

"Look, even if we _don't_ manage to find a replacement scout, you won't be able to do it for much longer," said Amexia. "Everybody knows it. You've more than lost your edge."

"No I haven't," said Malfoy. But now he smelled of fear.

"I see you've gone back to using the Time Turner," Brandt said. "Has it really come to that?"

After watching Malfoy for three or four days Hermione knew exactly what would happen next. He was tired, he was probably in pain, he had no way to escape the situation and Amexia was pushing him hard on a number of subjects that he found threatening and stressful. It was inevitable he'd turn on her, just as he'd turned on Hermione at the restaurant.

He hid the wrist with the Time Turner behind his back, which was pointless since she'd already recognized it, then spun around to face Amexia, his chin raised and his eyes blazing pale and awful through the slits of his mask.

"Don't forget that I could take _your_ place," he said. "I've done the raid coordination before, and I'm quite good at it."

Brandt looked stricken, and glanced reflexively at the statue of Voldemort again as if it might be getting ideas from hearing this.

"Not as good as I am, not by half," she hissed.

"Just keep telling yourself that," said Malfoy.

"And even if you did take my spot, my family has more than enough money to be valued regardless!"

Malfoy sniffed. "Money from _business_ only," he said. "And potionmaking at that. I'd wager Brandt Dyers would meet its end rather quickly if it lost its account with Batwing."

Brandt's eyes widened. "You wouldn't!"

"I most certainly would, if it suited me," said Malfoy. The bronze sphere that was his Portkey shifted subtly, and Malfoy snatched it up again triumphantly. "Good day, Brandt."

"You bastard!" she yelled, and jerked forward to slap it right out of his hand before he could squeeze it. It dropped to the floor with a clank. "How dare you threaten me! You have a lot of nerve, Malfoy. I'm the only friend you've got in Death Eaters anymore and you know it. And how dare you try to Portkey when I'm not done _talking_ to you!" She followed it with a hard slap directly across the exposed part of his face.

Hermione remembered (with some embarrassment) having throughly subdued him with just such a slap back when they were kids in school. But after all these intervening years, Malfoy was made of much sterner stuff than he had once been. A look of outrage to match hers shot across his face, turned by the mask into something truly terrible. He shoved her away from him and she stumbled backward and fell on her arse.

"Best watch yourself, Brandt," he sneered. "My plans don't include you as my _friend_ or as anything else."

Amexia Brandt just sat there for a moment, staring at him, and he took the opportunity to bend over and retrieve the fallen one-shot from where it'd rolled. Brandt scrambled to her feet looking as if she wanted to launch herself at his back again, but this time she didn't quite dare.

"Bastard!" she hissed again, her own voice shaking with reaction.

But Malfoy only squeezed the one-shot, and then he was gone, leaving Hermione and Amexia Brandt alone in the secret cave.


	47. Gina White

Chapter 47: Gina White

At six in the morning, light was just making its first appearance through a gray drizzle that soaked London. Muggle commuter ferries toiled grimly along a sullen Thames and even the posh flats fronting on the river looked downright dismal in the rain.

Hermione hadn't really meant to be left behind at the Death Eater launch point, but she managed to salvage the situation by hitching a ride on Amexia Brandt. Then it'd simply been a matter of figuring out how to sneak out of Brandt's flat and then enduring a soaking-wet flight across town to catch Malfoy when he arrived at Ollivander's for the private fitting he'd claimed to have scheduled for 6:30 AM.

Unfortunately, an idea she'd had that Amexia Brandt might also make a good passkey to Death Eater raids turned out to be bankrupt. The first thing Brandt did upon arriving home was to flop down on her bed and say, "God, at least it's all over for another week." And Hermione remembered Arthur saying that only Malfoy went on all the raids. Brandt might work for some of them, but she'd definitely be second best.

* * *

Freida and Georgia were nagging at Hermione's fears. Malfoy had told St. James that he had no intention of punishing them, because he needed Hermione's goodwill too much. But somehow Hermione couldn't quite believe it. They _had_ done something awful. Any parent would want revenge and want it badly. Most people would have taken it to the Wizengamot at the very least. And now that she'd seen who and what Malfoy really was, she wouldn't put anything at all past him.

During the brief hours Hermione had lost Malfoy, he'd clearly gotten a lot done – a lot more than those few hours should have allowed.

As he walked up Diagon Alley toward Ollivander's shop he was looking good, the best Hermione had seen him in fact. For the first time since she'd taken on the Batwing assignment, she was seeing him in his 'public' mode. This meant he'd had time to effect a full grooming routine, complete with all the little illusory spells whose quantity had astonished Benkmann so. Sharply dressed and striding swiftly down Diagon Alley with his head held high, he no longer seemed the harrassed businessman, or Nesbitt's cringing victim, or a menacing Death Eater. He was a Malfoy, an important personage in the Wizarding World simply by virtue of his wealth and breeding. News recordings could catch him now and there'd be nothing to see that wouldn't aid his reputation in a positive way.

He also appeared considerably rested compared to when she'd last seen him, even down to his posture and stride, things that were difficult to disguise cosmetically. He must have had a chance to catch several hours of sleep at some point. There's no way he could have done that without thoroughly abusing the Time Turner, but Hermione was hardly in a position to say anything about that. She had, after all, explicitly recommended he use one for getting more sleep. What had she been thinking!

But mostly she was worried about her twin girls. She was torn between sticking to Malfoy every waking moment or breaking away to go to Hogwarts to check on Georgia and Freida instead. After all, if he'd had time to do all that, he'd had time to go to Hogwarts too. Hadn't he?

* * *

Ollivander met Malfoy at the door of his shop and looked both ways before unlocking it just long enough to let him slip inside.

Like Malfoy, Ollivander had gotten entangled with the Death Eaters early on in the war. He too had resurfaced after it was over, and there was no clear proof as to exactly where he had been and exactly what he'd done, though many people assumed he'd been taken unwillingly and was entirely innocent. It was funny, Hermione thought, how people decided one thing or another based on nothing at all.

Ollivander's private showroom was located behind an unobtrusive door leading from the main shop. Hermione had never been inside before, as she and Ron hadn't been able to afford Ollivander's wands for their children at all much less having private fittings. At least they'd gotten brand new wands, though. Better a properly-chosen lesser wand than a secondhand or ill-fitted one; Hermione had learned that much by watching Ron and their friend Neville struggle with unchosen wands in school.

The fitting-room itself was tiny but well-appointed, with plush pickle-green couches and elaborate wallpaper in tones of ochre and gold. A lantern hung from the ceiling for illumination, and a Persian rug spread in front of a cosily crackling hearth completed the scene.

But as Hermione zoomed into the fitting room ahead of Malfoy and Ollivander, she barely noticed its accoutrements, for sitting there on the couch was none other than Gina White, the unfortunate Batwing employee whose wand Malfoy had commandeered. As far as Hermione knew, that wand was still in the hands of Special Ops, who were surely intending to use it as part of their case to get an apparition restraint on him.

White looked like she felt she had made a serious mistake and wasn't sure how to back out of it. When she saw that Ollivander was bringing Malfoy with him, she jumped up in a hurry, wringing her hands.

It didn't take genius to see what was going on here. Malfoy had obviously arranged for this meeting and it could only be for the purpose of buying White a new wand. Why else would it be happening at Ollivander's? And an Ollivander's wand was too extravagant a gift to be bestowed upon a meaningless employee even by Malfoy. No, she was being coerced. Hermione could see it in the witch's face, her posture. Malfoy would replace her wand, and then she would have to do exactly as he wanted when she went to court for Special Ops. She'd have no other choice.

* * *

Hermione knew that besides having an astonishing memory for details, Ollivander also kept careful notes on who bought which wand and who was related to whom. That way, when the new crop of eleven-year-olds came in for their first wands each year, he could be prepared with a host of little bits of knowledge about their parents and even had some guess about what might suit them wand-wise.

That he had nothing to say about Gina White suggested that nobody in White's family had ever been inside Ollivander's before.

"And what sort of wand have you used in the past?" he asked her.

"Oak please sir," she said timidly. "Clear finish."

Ollivander smiled. "They're all black in color, my dear. But never fear, we'll find one quite suited to you. Allow me a minute to select a few for you to try."

He turned and disappeared through a curtain leading into the rear of the shop, leaving Gina White alone with Malfoy.

* * *

It was instinctive. People, even witches and wizards, tended to like and trust those who were good-looking. Even when they knew better, they couldn't help but wish they could.

And Hermione had to admit that from anybody else's point of view, Malfoy did better than clean up well. In fact, he was downright handsome if you went for the pureblood wizard look, which of course many witches did. For her part, Hermione was acutely aware of just how many generations of inbreeding it took to achieve the look to the extent that he possessed it. Just the thought of it made her cringe. That she _was_ a little bit attracted, due no doubt to the multiple glamors he'd placed on himself, only made it worse. That and her newfound discoveries regarding his Death Eater activities combined to make her feel rather unpleasantly queasy.

Of course he had to know the effect he was having on White. A person didn't put that kind of effort into magically enhancing their own looks without a specific effect in mind.

White kept trying to glance at him when she was hoping he wouldn't notice. She seemed unbearably fascinated despite her fear. Hermione suspected the awe was core-deep, and a result of her upbringing. White hadn't thought twice before handing Malfoy her wand back in Batwing's lobby, as if obedience to her "betters" had come built-in.

* * *

The most special wands, the ones that had turned out the best and were the most valuable, were specially packaged in invidual boxes. They had little bits of colored crepe paper wrapped around them, and ribbons holding the boxes closed. These were lovingly stored for years, even decades, protected by climate control spells, as they waited for an appropriate witch or wizard to come along.

The rest, the common wands, made up the bulk of the sales and were not given such lavish attention. These were the sort that Ollivander brought out to show Gina White first. They were carried on a dark red laquered tray lined with black velvet. About twenty wands were pressed into invididual slots in the velvet, awaiting Gina White's perusal.

Hermione could tell just by watching her reaction that Gina White had never even touched a nice wand. She let out little gasps when she touched each handle and felt its effect upon her magic, and one near the end made her emit a startled squeak. She stared at that one with a new respect. Ollivander smiled and gently detached it from the slot to hand it to her to try.

"Go on, give it a wave," he suggested.

Gina White waved it cautiously, and Hermione's fly-bristles prickled as magic swelled in the room. It wasn't that dramatic a reaction, though. The wand was usable, but not much of a match.

"It won't be one of these," said Malfoy.

"This is all I have for ordinary oak wands at the moment," said Ollivander. "Perhaps another wood, then? Or we might investigate the special wands… the price is higher, of course."

He was saying this for Gina White's benefit. Malfoy would already know.

Malfoy's expression was cynical. His voice was cool, determined.

"Price is no object," he said.

Hermione knew what that meant – it meant that Gina White had better hold back her secret or else. She was trading her life for a wand, on the promise of her own ability to resist Nesbitt's pressure. There was no wand in Ollivander's worth that much.

White started to put the wand back on the tray, but Malfoy's hand darted out to stop hers. It was his left hand, the damaged one. She could have pulled away easily, but either she didn't know or didn't dare.

"Let me see it," he said. Her fingers, seeming dark and too-coarse compared to his, slank away as he took the wand from her hand. He held the wand pressed between his palms, not trying to use it but to sense the resonance of its reaction to her. After a moment, he passed it back to Ollivander. "It shouldn't be oak at all, I think."

"I quite agree," said Ollivander. "Willow, perhaps, or birch."

"I like oak," said Gina White defensively.

"Red willow, I think," said Ollivander. "And unicorn tail hair. I have two or three saved away. Shall we try them?"

"But I've never…_"_ began Gina White, but she sounded as if she didn't expect anyone to listen to her.

Malfoy drummed his fingers restlessly on the couch-arm as Ollivander disappeared behind the curtain leading to the shop's work and storage areas.

"Look… I think I should go," said Gina White.

The drumming stopped and Malfoy's pale eyes flicked to Gina White's face, cruel and unforgiving.

"Well, you won't," he said flatly.

"I know you'd rather I stayed, but this is… this is wrong. I can't do this."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed further. "Perhaps you don't quite understand your situation," he suggested.

"Oh, no… Mr. Nesbitt explained it very thoroughly," said White, looking pale.

"Then you know I can't allow you to testify against me in a court of law," he said.

"But you don't have any choice," said White nervously. "And I don't have any choice. I –"

"The choices," interrupted Malfoy, "are whether we do this cleanly, or whether you are determined to make a mess of things."

"I don't want to do it at all," exclaimed Gina White. "It's wrong! I signed an agreement –"

"Don't think I can't gain your cooperation whether you cooperate or not," said Malfoy. "My resources are beyond your comprehension."

Gina White blanched. "I – I don't understand what you're –"

"I don't suppose they were planning on asking you to demonstrate your Apparation signature in the courtroom for the experts, were they?" inquired Malfoy. "I understand you're not very good at it. It'd be terribly unfortunate if there was an… accident, wouldn't it?"

White's eyes widened. "Omigod! You couldn't just –"

"You shouldn't assume anything about what I'm capable of. It's not wise."

"But they'll know it was your fault!"

"With your Apparition record? I highly doubt it."

Hermione had noticed Ollivander lurking just on the other side of the curtain, listening in. Now he chose to make his move, coming out of the curtain again bearing three slender wand boxes each tied with a delicate bow.

"I think you shall find these much more suited," he said, smiling at Gina White. He pretended as if he'd heard none of it. Hermione supposed pretending ignorance was simply something one learned in Death Eaters, like freezing to help Muggle repellant wards, or killing people no matter how unbearable the act.

Ollivander unwrapped one of the new wands and presented it to Gina White to try giving it a swish. This time, Hermione's fly-bristles tingled as the ambient magic in the room swelled suddenly in response, the wand cleanly channeling the magic.

"Omigod," said Gina White again, staring at the wand. Hermione wondered if it was the first properly-chosen wand the witch had ever held.

"Red willow and unicorn tail hair," said Ollivander. "Nine inches, nicely flexible."

"This is… incredible," said Gina White.

"When your daughter turns eleven, there'll be one for her too," said Malfoy. "For your silence."

Gina White's eyes darted up to his, startled. Hermione figured White hadn't thought beyond her own personal danger before this. Malfoy's tone had been mild enough, and the offer was generous on the surface of it, but now the entire picture became clear. The daughter was vulnerable. Off at boarding-school alone, unguarded.

The witch's hands whitened around the wand and her face turned bleak, and Hermione felt profoundly sorry for her.

"But what am I supposed to tell them?" Gina White whispered. "I signed a contract –"

"Those Auror witness-contracts are a sham," said Malfoy dismissively. "They were gutted by Auror Affairs years ago. You've nothing to fear on that score."

"But Mr. Nesbitt will –"

"Let me handle Rudeo Nesbitt," said Malfoy.

"You can protect me from him?" said Gina White.

"Better than you can protect yourself from him, I should think," said Malfoy, which Hermione thought was no answer at all. Not really.

"And this wand is mine?" said Gina White cautiously. "Mine forever?"

"It's yours," said Malfoy. "For your silence. I want your vow as a witch."

Gina White wouldn't be able to back out of a vow like that. If she did, there would be serious magical consequences quite independent of anything Malfoy might do to her.

"I – I swear," she said. "I swear I'll remain silent. Just don't harm my daughter."

"You might try the other two," suggested Ollivander. "One of the others might be a closer match."

"I think I'd better just take this one and go," said Gina White, looking rather sickly despite the edge of determination in her voice.

Ollivander inclined his head graciously. "Then go with it in good health, my dear," said the old wand maker. "Mr. Malfoy and I shall make all the arrangements."

* * *

_Family and survival,_ Malfoy had said. That's what it ultimately came down to.

A decent wand was more than just a bribe. It would change Gina White's entire life. She'd be a better witch and a better teacher to her child with a wand like this. She'd be able to lead a more upscale lifestyle based on the same income. She'd be able to push her own magical knowledge, if she wanted to, learning things she'd never been able to learn before with an unchosen wand.

And as awful though this coercion was, it could have been so much worse. They could, for example, have arranged for Gina White to receive a flawed wand that would explode and kill her the first time it was used for a serious spell. Or she could have met some more unnewsworthy and anonymous and untraceable end, overdosed on a faulty headache-potion or run down accidentally-on-purpose by an out of control Muggle car.

At least this way she'd still have her life, her daughter, and her job. At least she'd still have that.

"And now, for the other...?" said Ollivander, once Gina White had been seen safely out and the shop's door locked once again.

"A temporary spare," said Malfoy. "For myself, for a week or two only, I hope."

"I've heard a good deal about your primary," said Ollivander. "Chinese Fireball nose-feeler and zitan-wood. Very unusual. A quest wand, was it?"

A quest wand was special in that the materials used to build it had individually chosen the wizard beforehand. The end result was a wand that was an extraordinary match to its user, sometimed even magically bonded to them. If correctly made, a quest wand was the most valuable thing any witch or wizard could own, and very nearly irreplaceable.

Malfoy's pale eyes were full of reluctance and suspicion. Hermione was reminded of when she'd asked him if he was a regular at Segal's Roost.

"Yes," he said slowly, looking as if he expected an immediate rebuttal.

"Really! You slew a Chinese Fireball singlehandedly?"

"Not… exactly," said Malfoy.

Ollivander seemed disappointed, but not surprised. "And the zitanwood? You did not seek it out on foot in the jungles of the East?"

"I already had a zitan chaise-lounge in the East sitting-room. I had the artisans cut a piece from a discreet location, where it would not be missed."

"Ah, took it from under the cushioning then? Where no one would have to know? Very clever, very clever. Impossible to come by, new zitan."

"Mm," said Malfoy.

There was a pause.

"Might I examine it?" asked Ollivander.

Malfoy coughed uncomfortably. "It was confiscated by the Aurors on Wednesday and I have yet to get it back."

"Pity it wasn't a true quest wand," said Ollivander, "or it would have returned to you on its own."

Malfoy's eyes turned toward the door, as if he were considering fleeing the conversation which obviously was't a pleasant one for him. Ollivander seemed to sense his preparation to bolt and moved slightly to intercept.

"Still," he said, "a wand like that only comes along once in a great while… I should like to examine it some day, if you are able to get it back."

"Oh, I'll get it back," said Malfoy grimly. "One way or another."

"Of course you will," smiled Ollivander. "There's never a wand quite as good as one's primary, is there? No matter how many substitutes pass through one's hands. We're all the same in that respect."

Malfoy looked as if he didn't want that to be true, but of course it was. Hermione had never seen him actually use the zitanwood wand, because it had been seized by the Aurors shortly after she started watching him. But if that was his primary wand, it was the one he'd be most comfortable with and have the best results with. Especially if he'd gone to some effort to allow the materials to choose him before it was built.

"I have a couple of ideas already in mind," continued Ollivander. "Among the special collection. Dragon heartstring, I presume?"

"Of course," said Malfoy. Ollivander smiled, and then disappeared into the back.

Hermione knew that because a dragon had to be slain to gather heartstrings for wand cores, many people believed those wands lacked the power of the ones whose cores had been donated willingly by a sentient creature like a phoenix or unicorn. But because of the unpleasantness associated with the core taken by force, dragon heartstring wands resonated cleanly with the Dark Arts where other wands would resist. Of course, any wand would work for the Dark Arts, just as any wand could be used for good; witness the nearly identical wands that had chosen Harry Potter and Voldemort. But try to tell a purist that!

"I suppose you've had to answer a lot of questions about Nix Johnson's Wizarding Radio interview the other day," Ollivander remarked, as he reappeared with several boxes in hand. He opened one of them and slid the wand out to offer it to Malfoy.

"Yes," said Malfoy, accepting the wand and pretending to examine the woodgrain of its shaft. Hermione could tell that he was back on the defensive again. She could see it in the renewed tension in his shoulders, his breaths coming slightly harder.

"The… 'Explatteratus' curse particularly," probed Ollivander.

Malfoy smiled at that, but it was a pained sort of half-smile. He placed the wand deliberately back into its box and pressed it down into the paper cushioning.

"Whatever you've heard," he said, "there's no such curse as the Explatteratus. By any name."

"If it's not a curse, what is it?" asked Ollivander slyly.

Malfoy accepted the next wand from Ollivander's hand. "It was an accident," he said, not meeting Ollivander's eyes until he had taken the time to wave the wand experimentally a few more times than was probably really necessary. Then he looked up with a queer expression that wasn't quite a warning, but wasn't quite friendly either. "Accidents do happen on occasion," he said.

"That they do," said Ollivander, sounding as if he for one was assuming the euphemistic rather than the genuine translation of "accident" in that particular case. And who could blame him, after what he'd just overheard from behind his back room curtain?

Olivander accepted that wand back. He picked up the next and then paused, his fingers running thoughtfully down the black shaft.

"The Fireball… _was_ it slain?"

Malfoy reached for the wand in Ollivander's hand.

"Since you ask, no, it wasn't." He ran his hands down the wand and then gripped its handle, readjusting his hold several times and taking great care in how it lay in his palm.

"Defeated in battle then, and the whisker demanded of it as payment for sparing its life?" Ollivander suggested.

"No," said Malfoy. He held the wand flat against his chest and pressed it there with his other hand, closing his eyes briefly.

"Imperius," guessed Ollivander. "It gave the feeler _willingly,_ under Imperius." He seemed at once admiring and horrified. Such a core would theoretically give a wand both the power of a willing core, and the Dark affinity of an ill-gotten one.

Malfoy's pale eyes turned upward to meet Ollivander's again, and in that moment Hermione felt an awful chill. It was there again, that look she'd seen at Ernie's café: the empty and soulless eyes of a monster, without even the frenzy brought on by the Death Eaters' potions. Dead.

"Pure speculation," said Malfoy, his voice sounding too-normal by comparison to his expression. He handed the wand back to Ollivander. "Not this one either."

"Ah, but very close to the mark, wasn't I?" said the old man. He placed the wand back in its box and fingered the boxes, reading the labels in order to select another. "The Imperius, and the dragon."

Malfoy sneered. "It's none of your business, really, is it? Let me try one of your son's. I think it shall be a Wanmaker today."

"Ah, but Parker hasn't had much success with dragon heartstring," said Ollivander. "Not yet."

"Even so."

Ollivander disappeared momentarily, then returned with a slotted tray containing a selection of identical-looking black wands.

Malfoy tried the wands one by one and Hermione could tell none of them responded to him at all. They were terrible matches. Malfoy frowned sourly as he handed the last one back.

"Disappointing, isn't it?" said Ollivander sadly. "Such a promising lad, my Parker, but he really hasn't the touch with the Dragon Heartstrings at all."

"Let me see the other Wanmakers," said Malfoy. "With the other cores. What are they, unicorn tail-hair?"

"Mostly," said Ollivander, "and one or two Phoenix Feather. There are a few experimental ones as well, banshee hair and unicorn hoof fiber and the like, but none of those are particularly impressive. Certainly not up to your standards."

Malfoy sniffed. "I'll be the judge of that."

This time, when the old wand-maker returned with the tray of remaining Wanmaker wands, Malfoy didn't even pretend to try the wands out. Instead he closed his eyes briefly, his fingertips touching the handles of the wands lying on the tray, then stopped somewhere near the middle. He picked up that wand and gripped it tightly, gave it a couple of waves.

"This is the one," he said with conviction.

Hermione knew Malfoy had simply recognized it as the wand he'd used earlier. The peculiar logic of time travel meant that if it was the same wand, he must have bought it here and now.

"Phoenix-feather," said Ollivander softly. "Ah, curious."

"Phoenix-feather," repeated Malfoy sourly. "The wand core of the righteous. Whoever thought I'd own one?"

"Well, there are also some –" Ollivander started to say, reaching for the wand, but Malfoy held it back out of reach, fending the shopkeeper off with his other hand.

"I was only going to say," said Ollivander. "I have several more of my own dragon-heartstring wands halfway built. They're from a dragon none of these others are. Perhaps one of those –"

"Perhaps another day," said Malfoy firmly.

"Very well then, said Ollivander, and he disappeared behind the curtain with the leftover wands.

* * *

After their business was concluded, they returned to the front of the shop, and Ollivander unlatched the front door in order to let Malfoy out.

Then he paused.

"One more thing," said Ollivander, a peculiar note in his voice. "They say you cast a multi-generational accursing on someone last month. Is it true?"

Malfoy's expression took on a wary look.

"And if I did?"

"I was just curious. Did you use the zitan and nose-feeler wand?"

Malfoy turned to face Ollivander more fully, crossing his arms.

"I don't have to tell you that."

"No, of course not," said Ollivander soothingly. "I was only curious."

Malfoy's breath snorted out. "Well, what if I did?"

"A wand core gotten by Imperius is no tool for that kind of curse. None at all."

* * *

Hermione knew that multi-generational accursings were not considered Unforgivable because they could not be used against an innocent, only against one who had done a great wrong to the caster. This was a very old form of magic. Untrained hedge-wizards and herb-witches in the most primitive parts of the British Isles had used these curses for centuries out of pure Wild Magic, as had the tiny magical beings of house and moor.

This is not to say that a trained wizard couldn't do a hundred times as much damage with a Multi-generational Curse. A traditional wizard from one of the oldest families, Malfoy almost certainly had detailed knowledge of how to cast these powerful curses, and the number of generations his family had been in existance would give him tremendous leverage. This was because the number of generations such a curse lasted depended not only on the seriousness of the crime, but also how many uninterrupted magical generations were in the caster's direct ancestry versus the victim's. There weren't many types of magic where being pureblooded was an actual practical advantage, but that was one of them. When Malfoy had told St. James he could have Georgia and Freida's progeny wearing the heads and tails of donkeys until the dawning of the Age of Capricorn, he might not have been exaggerating.

Suddenly his willingness to accept the Phoenix Feather core wand seemed a lot more ominous. For there was no act of magic more righteous than a Multigenerational Accursing.

* * *

Evidently Ollivander had been thinking along the somewhat similar lines.

"Planning to do it again, are you?" said Ollivander, glancing down at the package containing the wand, now tucked under Malfoy's arm. "Perhaps more effectively, this time?"

Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

"I was quite effective enough the first time around, thank you," he said stiffly.

"Really?" said Ollivander softly. "And with a Dark wand like that."

"I turned the man into an umbrella stand," said Malfoy. "It hardly matters whether the curse lasts five generations or fifty, since he can no longer reproduce."

"I was referring to the Weasley children who attacked your son," said Ollivander.  
"Everybody knows there's nothing more important to a Malfoy than family. You _will_ get your revenge…?"

_Today,_ thought Hermione in a rush of worry. _At Hogsmeade._ It would be so easy. The twins had harmed his son critically. They deserved his revenge. All they needed to do was to stumble across his path and he could do it. No wizarding court in the world would convict someone for casting a Multigenerational Accursing because the victim was always guilty in proportion to the severity of the punishment.

Malfoy's stiff manner was beginning to degenerate into open hostility. "What do _you_ think?" he snapped.

"Oh I think nothing of it either way," smiled Ollivander. "But… _others_… are starting to wonder."

_"Others,"_ sneered Malfoy, "need to mind their own business."

And he turned and shoved his way out of the shop before Ollivander could say anything further.

_God help me,_ he'd told St. James, _I can't afford to offend Hermione Weasley now. _ _Not even for my son._

Maybe it was really true.


	48. Breakfast with Hedwig

Chapter 48: Breakfast with Hedwig

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Yes, I can tell you about that. Better not do it through owls, though. Meet me where Snuffles used to hide, at noon on Sunday. I'll explain everything then. Make certain you aren't followed. I'll be invisible._

_-Harry_

* * *

_Potter,_

_You stay out of this. Fair warning. The next time I won't be so nice about it._

_-Rudeo Nesbitt_

_Auror Special Operations_

(Harry Potter's previous letter attached)

* * *

_Ron,_

_Do you know how I can get ahold of Hermione? First Hedwig couldn't find her and now Aurors seem to be seizing the mail at her parents' house._

_-Harry_

* * *

_Harry!_

_Harry, thank God! I haven't heard from you in ages. It must be years, really! Where've you been? What have you been doing lately? We should get together sometime._

_I don't know where Hermione is. She went skrewt on me over some personal stuff night before last and things got way out of hand. Domestic Disturbances ended up dragging her off to the lockup. Draco Malfoy bailed her out first thing yesterday morning and nobody's seen her since. Did you see that in the news about her Apparating from within St. Mungo's wards? And blowing up dad's experiments shed with Wild Magic? And holding Malfoy's hand on the Apparition platform? I wish I knew what was wrong with her. She hasn't been herself at all. It must be all the time she's been spending with Malfoy. That can't possibly be good, can it?_

_-Ron_

_P.S. Let me know if you find her. I've been trying to owl her myself for a day and a half now with no luck._

* * *

_Hermione,_

_What is all this about your spending time with Malfoy? No - don't answer that here. We need to talk in person. I can explain what happened back when I left the Aurors – and you should probably hear all of it before you go any farther with whatever-it-is you're doing. Meet me near the tree Snuffles dragged Ron under. Don't let anyone follow you there. I'll be waiting._

_-Harry_

* * *

_Potter,_

_Nesbitt's watching you. You won't get any mail through to her and you're lucky I got to this one before he did. I wouldn't try meeting her in person either if I were you. You just want to stay far away this time around. Trust me._

_-A Friend, Aerial Recon_

(Harry's previous letter attached)

* * *

_Ginny,_

_Do you know where Hermione is? She owled me but I haven't been able to owl her back. Nesbitt and Cov Ops seem to be seizing all my mail to her. Is she in trouble?_

_-Harry_

* * *

_Harry!_

_I can't believe you owled me at work and using your own owl! I can't believe it slipped through!_

_Ron's perfectly frantic. He says the Burrow has been nearly destroyed, and I've been _

_afraid to go look. Hermione's been to her parents' and set up some quick wards there, then popped in and out a few times but disappeared for good late last night and nobody has seen her since. Special Operations has the whole place riddled with snoops and alarms now so'd they'd know if she had ever come back._

_I'm worried about her. She's been acting so odd lately, and to be honest she's been getting harder and harder to get ahold of for months now. It's not just you. Most of my owls don't reach her either. I think she and Ron have been having some kind of fight. I wish I knew where she goes when no one can find her!_

_Please let me know where she is if you manage to get ahold of her. Actually all of Special Ops would really like to know where she is._

_-Virginia_

_P.S. How've you been?_

_P.P.S. Don't use your own owl again! Use this one to owl me at work. It has clearance. I can't promise nobody will read your letters though._

* * *

_Ginny,_

_The Burrow is destroyed? What happened! Was it Death Eaters? Or… Ron said something about an argument getting out of hand? What's going on? Are he and Hermione really having problems? How bad is it? I hadn't heard. Do you think I should talk to them about it? Not that I would have any idea what to say, but I will if you think I should._

_-Harry_

* * *

_Malfoy,_

_You'd better watch yourself. Hermione has a lot of people who care a good deal about her, and if you harm her you'll be sorry._

_-Harry Potter_

* * *

_Potter,_

_Well, well, well. If it isn't Little Whinging's biggest has-been. _

_Why should I care what you think?_

_-Draco Malfoy_

* * *

_Malfoy,_

_Because I know something about you that could get you into a good deal of trouble with a lot of people. Or had you forgotten?_

_-Harry Potter_

* * *

(sent 1 hour later)

_Malfoy,_

Had_ you forgotten?_

_-Harry Potter_

* * *

_No._

(unsigned, but in Draco Malfoy's handwriting)

* * *

_Malfoy,_

_That's what I thought. So where is she?_

_-Harry Potter_

* * *

_I have no idea. _

_-Draco Malfoy_

* * *

_Malfoy,_

_I don't believe you._

_-Harry Potter_

* * *

_Believe what you like. I haven't seen her since early morning yesterday. I have a few questions I'd like rather desperately to ask her myself actually._

_-Draco Malfoy_

* * *

_Harry,_

_Yes, from what I've heard half the buildings on the property are just burnt up and gone, and the Burrow itself ransacked. Once news got around it'd been raided for breach-of-security evidence, there was a departmental feeding-frenzy. I think the only department who didn't show up there at least once was Child Safety and that's just because all the children are off at Hogwarts for the year. Thank goodness for small blessings. That's all Ron and Hermione would have needed right now, on top of everything else._

_As for their problems… do you remember when Hermione used to joke about Ron being tempted by Quidditch fans all the time? Well, I don't think she finds it a joking matter anymore. Actually Dad said she's flat out accused Ron of cheating more than once in the last couple of years. Ron always denies it, and if I can't believe my own brother, who can I believe? But Hermione seems to actually think it happened, and let's face it, the newspapers aren't helping either with all that rubbish they print._

_You don't think he'd really… ?_

_You know Hermione, though. Once she's got an idea in her head, there's no stopping her. And I'm not sure it's such a good idea for her to be associating with Draco Malfoy. He'd tell her anything that'd help him get his way. Pansy's told me about the head games he used to play on her when they were married. She said she could handle it because she grew up with the same thing, but Hermione didn't. I just worry she's being manipulated._

_Any luck on getting ahold of her by owl?_

_-Virginia_

* * *

_Ginny,_

_No. I exchanged a few owls with Malfoy and he claims he doesn't know where she is either. Though I'm not sure I believe him._

_-Harry_

* * *

_Harry,_

_For what it's worth, up until a couple of days ago Malfoy owned an ex Ops owl from the bad old days that had full clearance and every delivery assistance charm ever invented. It used to win loads of owling competitions back before the charms were declared unsporting. And even that one needed three attempts over four hours to get a message through to Hermione. Or so Cov Ops' mole at Batwing claims!_

_I think she just doesn't want to be found – by anybody. If only we knew where she goes! And how she gets there._

_-Virginia_

* * *

_To: Mr. Arthur Weasley_

_From: Harry Potter_

_Hello Arthur, hope things have been going well for you._

_Sorry to jump right to the point, but do you have any idea why Rudeo Nesbitt has suddenly started intercepting my owls again? Does it have anything to do with Hermione? And what's this I hear about the Burrow getting destroyed? Is everybody all right? _

_-Harry Potter_

* * *

_Harry,_

_I had a feeling we'd be hearing from you any day now._

_Hermione's got herself into a spot of trouble, but nothing we can't handle I don't think. She's somehow managed to get tangled up in a business relationship with Draco Malfoy, and it's made things a bit complicated for her. None of our operatives seem to think she's in any actual danger – at least not from Malfoy himself. _

_That Burrow business is another matter, though. You know how Nesbitt feels about Auror Affairs. I think we're seeing the beginning of another bid to try to topple it – and the strongest attempt yet. I have a feeling Nesbitt is trying to leverage this situation with Hermione to create enough scandal to accomplish that. He still wants __as badly as ever_ to see a return to Auror dominance of the Ministry.  


_Did you see the cursed postbox in the news? I think it's pretty obvious who tipped Misuse of Muggle Artifacts off about that. The timing is just too convenient… I was tied up with that mess for so long that I didn't even know the Burrow had been raided until after it was all over. Ron was there and he swears they used a wards-stunner bomb to take out the protections, though I'm not sure he'd actually recognize one if he saw one. And it's fully documented that the remaining ones were destroyed after the war ended. Even so, I've got Regulations started on an investigation first thing Monday morning. If Nesbitt's got any more of those stashed, we'll find them._

_I am supposed to see Hermione on Monday morning to talk about Malfoy again. I fully expect I'll see her at that time, but if I don't then I will really be worried._

_In fact, do let me know if you manage to get a hold of her would you? I appreciate it._

_-Arthur Weasley_


End file.
